mmxi 



ififififiL 



lOCTES AMBROSIANJ. 



o 



U9 



BY 



CHRISTOPHER IsTOETH. 

CPkop. John Wilson). 



SELECTED, EDITED AE'D ARRANGED BT 

JO HIT SKELTOIV:. 

ADVOCATL 




NEV/ YORK: 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

14 AND 16 Vesey Street. 



\ 









TROWS 

PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANVa 

MEW YORK.. 



XPH A'EN STMnOSIQ KYAIKON HEPINISSOMENAQN 
HAEA KS2TIAA0NTA KAGHMENON OINOnOTAZEIN. 

PHOc. ap. Ath, 

[This is a distich by wise old Phocy tides. 

An ancient loho wrote crabbed Greek in no silly days ; 

Meaning, " 'Tis right for good wine-bibbing people, 

Not to let the jitg pace round the board like a cripple ; 

But gaily to chat while discussing their tipple." 

An excelleait rule of the hearty old cock'tis— 

And a very jit motto to put to our Nodes A 

C. IS. ap. Amir. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Christopher North. , « 

The Ettrick Shepherd. 
Timothy Tickler. 
The English Opium-Eater. 
Colonel Cyril Thornton. 
MuLLiON, J[ Geritleman from the West, 
BuLLER, An Englishman, 
The Registrar. 
Ambrose, Mine Host. 

Nathan Gurney, the Reporter for the " NoctesJ* 
Mrs. Gentle, a Widow. 
Miss Gentle. 

Bronte, a veteran Newfoundlander, 
O'Bronte, a young Newfoundlander, 
A Cat, a Parrot, a Starling, a Raven, S^c, 
The Jug. 

Tappytoorie, Picardy, Sir David Gam, King Pepin, 
and others, Servants to Ambrose, 



The Scenes are laid at Ambrose's Tavern in Edinburgh ,* 
Buchanan Lodge, on the Firth of Forth ; St. Mary's Loch ; 
the Ettrick Forest, and elsewhere. 



THE CONTENTS. 



PAGE, 

THE INTRODUCTION, ... . ix 

I. 

In which Christopher North., Timothy Tickler, and the Etlrick 

Shepherd are introduced to the reader, ... 1 

ft. 

In which Tickler narrates his experiences at Dalnacardoch, . 15 

III. 
In the Blue Parlor, ... .30 

IV. 

In which the Shepherd usurps the Editorial chair, . • 44 

V. 

In which the Shepherd routs Mullion, ... 57 

VI. 

In which the Shepherd assists at an Incremation, . . 69 

VIL 

At the Lodge in Surnmer, . . . . .86 



vi Tlce^ Contents, 

vni. 

PAGE. 

In which the Shepherd is hanged and beheaded ^ . . 99 

IX. 
In the Paper Parlor, ..•••• 110 

X. 

In which the Shepherd relates how the Bagmen were lost, . 123 

XI. 

The Execution of the Mutineer , . • • t 133 

XII. 
I ' which the Shepherd paints his own portraity . . 150 

xm. 

In which Tickler captures the coif, and the Shepherd secures 

the BonassuSj ...... 164 

XIY. 
In which the Shepherd and Tickler take to the water, . 184 

XV. 

The Shepherd is attacked hy Tic-Douloureux, A ngma Pectoris, 

and Jaundice, . . . . . 21:.' 

XVI. 

In which, after North is hanged and drowned in a dream, the 

Shepherd is tempted and falls, .... 232 

XVII. 
TJie Haggis Deluge, ...... 248 



The Contents., vii 

xvin. 

PAGE. 

In which the Shepherd, having skated from Yarroio, takes a 

plmiter^ ....... 261 

XIX. 

'I- 'licit, after settling Othello, North Jloors the Shepherd, . 282 

XX. 

In icliich, during the great storm, the Snuggery window is 

blown in, and the Shepherd suffers, . . • 302 

XXI. 

In which, the English Opium-Eater dining ivith the Three, 

the Shepherd mounts Bonassus, . • • ' . 323 

XXII. 

The Bloody Battle of the Bees, . . 354 

XXIII. 

In wkich, after the Shepherd has appeared successively as Pan, 
as Hercules, and the Apollo Belvidere, North exhibits 
his great picture — the Defence of Socrates, . • 386 

XXIY. 

' u-hich, in the race from the Saloon to the Snuggery, Tickler 

and the Shepherd are distanced by North, . . 410 

XXV. 

fn icliich North erects Ms tent in the Fairy^s Cleugh, and is 

crowned King of Scotland by the Forest Worthies, . 440 

XXVI. 

A night on the leads of the Ledge, .... -iCS 



viii The Contents. 

XXVIL 

TAOTi. 

A Dinner in the Foresty . ..... 485 

xxvm. 

A Day at Tibbie' Sy 4:0- 

XXIX. 

In which the Shepherd appears for the last time as the terrible 

Tawney of Timbuctoo, ..... 527 

APPENDIX, ....... 553 

GLOSS ARYy 561 



TBE INTRODUCTION. 



John Wilson had the eagle beak, the lion-like mane 
of the Napiers. Mrs. Barrett Browning has said of 
Homer : — 

" Homer, with the broad suspense 
Of thund'rous brows, and lips intense 
Of garrulous god-innocence " — 

and whenever I read the lines, the mighty presence 
of Christopher North rises before me. John Wilson 
was an immense man, physically and mentally, and 
yet his nature was essentially incomplete. He needed 
concentration. Had the tree been thoroughly pruned, 
t.he fruit would have been larger and richer. As it 
was, he seldom contrived to sustain the inspiration 
unimpaired for any time ; it ran away into shallows, 
and spread fruitlessly over the sand. In many re- 
spects one of the truest, soundest, honestest , men 
who ever lived, he used to grow merely declamatory 
at times. Amazingly humorous as the Shepherd of 
the " Noctes " is (there are scenes, such as the open- 
ing of the haggis and the swimming match with 



X The Introduction. 

Tickler while the London packet comes up the Forth, 
which manifest the humor of conception as well as 
the humor of character, in a measure that has seldom 
been surpassed by the greatest masters), his fun is 
often awkward, and his enthusiasm is apt to tire. 
Yet had Shakespeare written about Falstaff once a 
month for twenty years, might we not possibly have 
said the same even of him ? And if the Shepherd at 
his best could be taken out of the " Noctes " and 
compressed into a compact duodecimo volume, we 
should have an original piece of imaginative humor, 
which might fitly stand for all time by the side of 
the portly knight. But the world is two crowded 
and too busy to preserve a creation which is not 
uniformly at its best, — which, on the contrary, is 
diffused and diluted through forty volumes of a 
magazine ; and so it is possible that, not quite unwill- 
ingly, posterity will let the Shepherd die. The same in 
a wa}^ holds true of Christopher's own fame. The mor- 
alist has told us from of old that only the mortal part of 
genius returns to the dust. But then this moral part 
was so large a j)art of Wilson. He was such a mag- 
nificent man ! No liteiary man of our time has had 
such muscles and sinews, such an ample chest, such 
perfect lungs, such a stalwart frame, such an expan- 
sive and Jove-like brow. Had he lived in the classic 
ages they would have made a god of him, — not be- 
cause he wrote good verses, or possessed the divine 
gift of eloquence, but because his presence was god- 
like. There was a ruddy glow of health about him, 
too, such as the people of no nation have possessed as 



The Introduction. xi 

a nation since the culture of the body, as an art of the 
national life, has been neglected. The critic, there- 
fore, who never saw Wilson, cannot rightly estimate 
the sources of his influence. We, on the contrary, 
who looked upon him, wdio heard him speak, know 
that we can never listen to his like again ; never can 
look upon one who, while so intellectually noble, so 
eloquent, so flushed with poetic life, did so nearly ap- 
proach, in strength and comeliness, the type of bodily 
perfection. The picture of the old man eloquent in 
his college class-room — the old man who had breasted 
the flooded Awe, and cast his fly across the bleakest 
tarns of Lochaber — pacing restlessly to and fro 
like a lion in his confined cage, his grand face work- 
ing Vvdth emotion while he turns to the window, 
through YN^hich are obscurely visible the spires and 
smoky gables of the ancient city, his dilated nostril 
yet '' full of youth," his small grey eye alight with 
visionary fire, as he discourses (somewhat discursive- 
ly, it must be owned) of truth, and beauty, and 
e^oodness, is one not to be forgotten. Had he talked 
the merest twaddle, the effect would have been very 
nearly the same : he was a living poem where the 
austere grandeur of the old drama was united w^iti 
the humor and tenderness of modern story-tellers ; 
and some such feeling it was that attracted and fas- 
cinated his hearers. 

It has been said by unfriendly critics that Wilson 
was an egotist. Montaigne and Charles Lamb were 
egotists ; but we do not complain of an egotism to 
which not the least charm of their writings is to be 



xii The IntroductioJi. 

attributed. The truth is that the charge against Wil- 
son rests on a misconception. Christopher North was 
egotistical, but Christopher North was a creation of the 
imagination. He represented to the world the invin- 
cible Tory champion, before whose crutch the whole 
breed of Radicals and Whiglings and Cockneys fled 
as mists before the sun. It was impossible to endow 
this gouty Apollo with the frailties of mortal combat- 
ants. Haughty scorn, immaculate wisdom, unassail- 
able virtue, were the characteristics of the potent 
tyrant. We have as' little right to say that Wilson 
was an egotist because Christopher North was ego- 
tistical (though, no doubt, in his old age, he could 
have looked the part admirably), as to say that Milton 
was immoral because he drew the devil. Men 
(whiggish and priggish) may continue to resent, 
indeed, as indelicate and unbecoming, the license of 
his fancy and the airy extravagance of his rhetoric ; 
but a juster and more catholic criticism confesses that 
in the wide realms of literature there is room for the 
grotesque gambols of Puck, for Attiel's moonlight flit- 
tings, for the imaginative riot of Wilson and Heine 
and Jean Paul. 



These sentences — written several years ago — may 
serve to explain how the idea of the present work 
first presented itself to me. My design has been to 
compress into a single manageable volume whatever 
is permanent and whatever is universal in the Comedy 
of the " Noctes Ambrosianse." The " Noctes " are cop 



The Introduction, x i 

ceived in the true spirit of Comedy, using the word 
in its widest sense, and tlieir presentation of human 
life is as keen, as broad, and as mellow as that of any 
of our dramatists. In this great play among various 
subordinate characters, three figures stand out with 
surprising force, — Christopher North, Timothy Tick 
ler, and the Ettrick Shepherd. During these hun 
dred-and-one ambrosial nights, what heights of the 
poetical imagination are scaled, what depths of the 
human soul are sounded, by the immortal " Three ! " 
While the whole is bathed in an atmosphere of 
natural humor, of irrepressible fun, of laughter that 
is not the less genuine because it is at times closely 
akin to tears. 

But the true unity of the piece is obscured by the 
introduction of much foreign matter. It is overlaid 
and smothered by protracted discussions upon topics 
of transient, personal, and local interest only. In 
the " Noctes," political events and notabilities that 
are no of interest to no living creature — romances 
which flourished for a season, poems which have been 
swept into oblivion — are criticised at unreasonable, 
or at least unreadable, length. Many of the smaller 
social and political portraits are first-rate of their 
kind, — such play of the imagination, such splendor, 
versatility, and, it must be added, ferocity of invective 
as " The Glasgow Gander," for instance, provoked by 
his assault on Walter Scott, are to be found nowhere 
else in our literature since the days of Dryden. But 
the " Gander " is dead ; and even the most patient 
reader tires of controversies which, though perfectly 



x\Y The Introduction. 

suited to ihe pages of a critical journal or a party 
review, are entirely out of place in a permanent work 
of the artistic imagination. 

It was clear, therefore, that if these excrescences 
'^oulcl be conveniently cletaclied, the true dramatic 
iiiity of the Comedy would be made manifest and 
emphasized; and the question then came to be, — 
Was such separation possible without vital injury to 
the Avhole, without reducing the entire building to 
mere fragmentary ruin ? It appeared to me that it 
was possible ; and this volume will enable the reader 
to judge whether my conviction was well founded. 
The operation was, I admit, a difficult and delicate 
one, and I cannot hope that it has been perfectly suc- 
cessful. Passages have been omitted which might 
have been retained, and passages have been retained 
which might have been omitted. .But I have tried, 
as far as practicable, by preventing any dialogue from 
being broken into mere fragments, to preserve the 
current and continuity of the narrative. The^ 
laounce, I suspect, are sometimes visible to the naked 
eye; but on the whole I do not feel that they are 
likely to affect the reader's enjoyment, or that they 
nar the general effect — the tout-an-sammal, as the 
iie[)]ierd Avould say — of an almost unique piece of 
dramatic hnmor. In what seemed to be a case of 
doubt, I have inclined to lean rather to the side of 
brevity than of prolixity. Many of the descriptive 
passages belong to what may be called the florid 
order of literary style ; and these do not suffer, but 



The Introduction. xv 

on the contrary are improved, by moderate retrench- 
ment and compression. 

One of the most difficult duties devolving on a writer 
of books in these days is to find an appropriate and 
unappropriated title — ^to know what to call his work • 
iiiid it has been sugf-o-ested that an author in sucii 
straits should '' request the praj'ers of the congrega 
tion." Even a mere editor has difficulties in his way. 
^as the present editor has discovered. To have 
called this volume the '' Noctes Ambrosiange " might 
have produced a false impression, seeing that it doee 
not contain more than a third of the matter which the 
" Noctes " written by Professor Wilson contained. On 
the other hand, it is a selection made upon a definite 
principle; so that to have called it a volume of 
" Selections " would not have sufficiently indicated its 
scope and design. The word required was one which 
could be fitly applied to that portion of the Tv^ork 
which deals with, or presents directly and dramatically 
to the reader, human life, and character, and passion, 
as distinguished from that x3ortion of it which is critical^ 
and devoted to the discussion of subjects of literary, 
artistic, or political interest only. The word " Comedy " 
althoiioh liable from modern use or abuse to be mis- 
understood) ultimately appeared to me to be the most 
suitable ; for, even if misunderstood the misunderstand- 
ing could not be very serious. It may in fact be said 
with perfect truth that, although the substance of the 
Discussion or Debate in which the ^' Three " enscag^e is 
often grave, and not unfrequently pathetic, the presen- 
tation is essentially humorous,— the surroundings being 



xvi The Introduction. 

whimsical, and the situations mirth-pro voldng. The 
" Noctes Ambrosianse," as a characteristic product of 
the dramatic spirit, belongs to the Comic Muse. 

The papers from which the materials of the present 
volume are taken, a]3peared in "Blackwood's Maga- 
zine " during the ten years from 1825 to 1835. 

I should not be doing justice to my own feelings if 
I were to close this prefatory note without a brief 
tribute to the editor of the origj-inal edition of the 
•' Noctes," — James Frederick Ferrier.* 

Ferrier was a philosophical Quixote, — a man who 
loved " divine philosophy " for its own sake. The 
student of pure metaphysics is now rarely met with ; 
the aofe of mechanical invention — of the steam-eno^ine 
and the telegraph — being disposed to regard the pro- 
verbially barren fields of psychology with disrelish and 
disrespect. Against this materalizing tendenc}^ Pro- 
fessor Ferrier's life was an uninterrupted and essen- 
tially noble protest. No truer, simpler, or more un- 
selfish student ever lived. Seated in his pleasant 
rustic library, amid its stores of curious and antiquated 
erudition, he differed as much from the ordinary men 
one meets in the law courts or on " 'Change," as the 
quaint academic city where he resided differs from Sal- 
ford or Birmingham. It was here — in his library — 
that Ferrier spent the best of his days ; here that he 

* Tlie present edition is based upon that edited by Professor Ferrier. 
The niatcri.al passages of the Preface which he contributed are reprinted 
i\\ the Appendix. T]ie Notes a'so are mainly taken from that edition, 
which must alwavs remain the standard, and, so to speak, classical edition of 
',h(^ " N■<v•?^:^ Ar'brusi; :i:v." 



The Inty oduction. xvii 

commented on the Greek psychologists, or explored the 
intricacies of the Hegelian logic ; and for Hegel (be it 
said in passing) he entertained an immense, and, con- 
sidering the character of his own mind — its clearness, 
directness, and love of terseness and epigram — some- 
wliat inexplicable admiration. At the same time he 
was no mere bookworm. He did not succeed, and 
did not try to succeed, at the Scottish bar, to which 
he was called ; but he had many of the qualities — 
subtlety of thought, lucidity of expression, power of 
arrangement — which ought to have secured success. 
He took a keen interest in the letters and politics of 
the day. His own style was brilliant and trenchant, 
and it was probably the slovenliness an4/inelegance of 
Reid (which even the studied art and succinct power 
of Hamilton have been unable to conceal or repair) 
which drove him into the camp of the enemy. He 
was considered, in orthodox philosophical circles, some- 
what of a free lance. He had a sharp scorn for 
laborious dulness and pretentious futility, — a scorn 
which he took no pains to disguise. When he de- 
scended into the controversial arena, he was sure to 
be in the thickest of the melee. He hit right and left : 
quietly, deftly, for the most part, it is true, yet with a 
force and precision which it was unpleasant to provoke 
and difficult to resist. If his life should be written 
hereafter, let his biographer take for its motto the five 
words of the " Faerj^ Queen," which the biographer of 
the Napiers has so happily chosen — " Fierce warres and 
faitJiful loves,'^ For though combative over his books 
and Ills theories, his nature was singularly pure, affec- 



xviii The Introduction. 

tionate, and tolerant. He loved his friends even bet* 
ter than he hated his foes. His prejudices were in- 
vincible ; but apart from his prejudices, his mind was 
open and receptive, — ^prepared to welcome truth from 
whatever quarter it came. Ferrier, other than a high 
Tory, is an impossible conception to his friends ; yet 
had he been the most pronounced of Eadicals, he 
■could not have returned more constantly to first prin- 
ciples, nor showed more speculative fearlessness. He 
was, in fact, an intrepid and daring reasoner, who al- 
lowed few formulas, political, ecclesiastical, or ethi- 
cal, to cramp his mind, or restrain the free play of his 
intellectual faculties. This contrast, no doubt, pre- 
sents an air of paradox; but Ferrier's cliaracter, as 
well as his logic, was sometimes paradoxical. He 
was a man of infinite subtlety, and he liked to play 
with his fancies, — to place them under strong lights, 
and in unusual attitudes ; but he possessed a fund of 
humor and common-sense which made him on the 
whole a sound and discerning student of human na,- 
ture. He was content to spend his days in contem- 
plative retirement ; but every one who has seen him 
must have remarked a certain eager look — an eager- 
ness of gesture and of speech — which indicated quite 
other than a sluggish repose. He united with a pe- 
culiar sensitiveness of constitution and fineness of 
critical faculty, a sturd}^ and indomitable soul. His 
frame, in his latter years at least, was slim and atten- 
uated ; but to the end he was one of the manliest of 
men. He was capable of becoming on occasion, as I 
have indicated, hotly, and it may be unreasonalDlj 



The Introduction. xix 

indignant. Perhaps to this original fire and fineness 
of nature his early decline is to be attributed. The 
fiery soui ' fretted the pigmy body to decay." Taken 
from us in the prime of life and in the vigor of his 
powers, the death of such a man is a loss to our 
pliilosophical schools not quickly to be repaired ; to 
his relatives, to his disciples, to his students — to ail 
wlio knew him in the easy intercourse of social life 
— the loss is irreparable. Apart altogether from 
those qualities of heart and intellect, of which the 
world knows, or may yet know, his friends will 
not soon forget his refined simplicity of manner, 
— a manner perfectl}^ unaffected, peculiar to him- 
self, and indicating a remarkable delicacy of or- 
ganization, yet smacking somehow of the high breed- 
ing and chivalrous courtesy of that old-fashioned 
school of Scottish gentlemen whom he had known in 
his youth, and of which he remained the represen 
tative. 

J. S. 

The Hekmitage of Bhaid, 
nth May, 1876. 



NOCTES AMBROSIAN^. 



I. 

7.V WHICH Cnm STOP HER NORTH, TIMOTHY TICK- 
LER, AND THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD ARE INTRO- 
DUCED TO THE READER. 

Blue Parlor. — Midnight. — Watchman heard crying " One 

o'clock.'''' 

NORTH.— TICKLER.— THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD. 

The middle Term asleep. 

Shepherd. Sir, I wish there was ony waukening o' Mr 
Ticklei# It's no' like him to fa' asleep. "Whisht ! whisht ! 
Hear till him ! hear till him ! 

North. Somnium Scipionis ! 

Tickler (asleep). It was creditable to a British public. Poor 
dear little soul, she has been cruelly treated altogether. My 
sweet Miss Lgetitia Foote,* although I am now rather 

Shepherd. Isna the wicked auld deevil dreamin' o' that 
play actress ! 

Tickler (dormiens). Thr^e times three. — Hurra! hurra 1 
hurra ! 

Shepherd. That's fearsome. Only think how, his mind 
corresponds wi' his friends, even in a dwam o' drink, — for I 

* Afterwards tlie Countess of Harritigtoii, 



2 / The Pastoral Drama, 

/ 
never saw him sae fou since tlie king's visit ! I'll just pu 
the nose o' him, or kittle it wi' the neb o' my keelivine pen.* 
{Sicfacit.) 

Tickler {aioahing). The cases are totally different. But, 
rioixg. wliat are you staring at ? Why, you have been sleep- 
hi2 since twelve o'clock. 

Shepherd. I hae some thocht o' writing a play, — a Pastoral 
Drama. 

Noi^th. What, James ? After Allan Ramsay — after the 
Gentle Shepherd'^ 

She-pherd. What for no ? That's a stupid apothegm, though 
you said it. I wad hae mair vaj-iety o' characters, and incee- 
dents, and passions o' the human mind in my di'ama — mair 
fun, and frolic and daffinf — in short, mair o' what you, and 
the like o' you, ca' coorseness ; — no sae muckle see-sawing 
between ony twa individual hizzies, as in Allan ; and, aboon 
a' things, a mair natural and wiselike % catastrophe. My 
peasant or shepherd lads should be sae in richt earnest, and 
no turn out Sirs and Lords upon you at the hinder end o' 
the drama. No but that I wad aiblins introduce the upper 
ranks intil the wark ; but they should stand abeigh i0kQ% the 
lave o' the characters, — by way o' " similitude in dissimilitude," 
as that haverer |j Wordsworth is sae fond o' talking and 
writing about. Aboon a' things, I wuss to draw the pictur 
o' a perfect and polished Scotch gentleman o' the auld schule. 

North Videlicet, — Tickler ! 

Shephei-d, Him, the lang-legged sinner ! Na, na ; I'll im- 
mortalize baith him and yoursel in my " Ain Life," — in my 
yawtobeeograffy. I'll pay aff a' auld scores there, I'se war- 
rant you. Deevil tak me gin ^ I haena a great mind — (a 

* Kecliclne — clialk pencil, \ Baffin — liuiuorsome uoiiseuse. 

t IVisdll-e — judicious. % Abehjltfrae — fil<x)f from 

|i llavcrer — vn-oser. II Gin—i*.. 



Tickler's Legacy. 3 

pause,— jug) —to liawn * you down to the latest posterity as 

a couple o' 

Nortli. James! — James! — James! 

Shepherd. Confound tliae grey glittering een o' yours, you 
warlock that you are ! I maun like you, and respeck you, 
and admire you too, IMr. North ; but och, sirs ! do you ken 
that whiles I just girn, out-by yonner, wi' perfect wudness * 
when I think o' you, and your chiels about you, lauchin' at 
and rinnin' down me, and ither men o' genius 

North. James ! — James ! — James ! 

Tickler. Dio; it well into him — he is a confounded churl. 

Shepherd. No half sae bad as yoursel, Mr. Tickler. He's 
serious sometimes, and ane kens when he is serious. But as 
for you, there's no a grain o' sincerity in a' jouv comj)Osition. 
You wadna shed a tear gin your Shej^herd, as you ca' him, 
were dead, and in the moulds. 

Tickler {evidently much affected). Have I not left you my 
fiddle in my will ? When I am gone, Jamie, use her carefully 
— ^keep her in good strings — and whenever you screw her up, 
think of Timothy Tickler — and (^^5 utterance is choked.) 

North. James ! James ! James ! — Timothy I Timothy ! 
Timothy ! — Something too much of this. Reach me over 
that pamphlet ; I wish to light my cigar. The last speech 
and dying words of the lie v. William Lisle Bowles ! 

Shepherd. ^YhsLt I a, newpoem? Ihoup itis. Lisle Bolls 
is a poet o' real genius. I never could thole a sonnet till I 
read his. Is the pamphlet a poem ? 

North. No Shepherd. It is prose ; being a further portion 
of Botheration about Pope, f 



* JTawnr—'hSiTid. t Wudness — distraction. 

t The " botlieration about Pope " refers to a protracted coixtroversy orig- 
nating in a dispute between Bowles and Campbell, as to wliether nature or 
art supplied the better materials for poetry. ]Most of the leading literary 
men of the day had been drawn into the discussion. 



4 Pope. 

Shepherd. I care little about Pop — except his Louisa and 
Abelard. That's a grand elegy ; but for coorseness it beats 
me hollow. . . . Puir wee bit hunched-backed, windle-strae- 
leo-o-ed, gleg-eed, * clever, acute, ingenious, sateerical, weel- 
informed, warm-hearted, real philosphical, and maist poetical 
creature, wi' his sounding translation o' a' Homer's works, 
that reads just like an original War Yepic, — his Yessay on 
Man, that, in spite o' what a set o' ignoramuses o' theological 
critics say about Bolingbroke and Crousass, and heterodoxy 
and atheism, and like havers, is just ane o' the best moral 
discourses that ever I heard in or out o' the pulpit, — his Ye- 
pistles about the Passions, and sic like, in the whilk he goes, 
baith deep and high, far deeper and higher baith than mony 
a modern poet, who must needs be either in a diving-bell or 
a balloon, — -his Rape o' the Lock o' Hair, wi' a' these sylphs 
floating about in the machinery o' the Rosicrucian Philoso- 
phism, just perfectly yelegant and gracefu', and as gude, in 
their way, as onything o' my ain about fairies, either in the 
Queen's Wake or Queen Jlynde, — his Louisa to Abelard is, 
as I said before, coorse in the subject-matter, but, O sirs ! 
powerfu' and pathetic in execution — and sic a perfect spate f 
o' versification ! His unfortunate lady, wha sticked hersel' 
for love wi' a drawn sword, and was afterwards seen as a 
ghost, dim-beckoning through the shade — a verra poetical 
thoct surely, and full both of terror and pity 

North. Stop, James — you will run yourself out of breath. 
Why, you said, a few minutes ago, that you did not care 
much about Pope, and were not at all fam'liar with his works 
— you have them at your finger ends. 

Shepherd. I never ken what's in my mind till it begins to 
work. Sometimes I fin' mysel just perfectly stupid — ^my 
mind, as Locke says in his Treatise on Government, quite a 

• GZe^r-eed— eharp-eyed. t Spate — ^stream in flood. 



" Lisle Bolh " 5 

carte hlanche — I just ken that I'm alive by my breathing, 
when, a' at ance, my sowl begins to hum like a hive about to 
cast off a swarm — out rush a thousand springing thochts, for 
a while circling round and round like verra bees — and then, 
like them too, winging their free and rejoicing way into the 
mountain wilderness and a' its blooming heather — returnii)o. 
in due time, with store o' wax on their thees, and a wamefu 
o' hinuey, redolent of blissful dreams gathered up in the 
sacred solitudes of nature. 

Tickler. Bowles also depreciates his genius. 

North. No, no, no ! 

Tickler. Yes, yes, yes ! 

Shepherd. Gude save us, Mr. Tickler, you're no sober yet, 
or you wad never contradic Mr. North. 

Tickler. Bowles also depreciates his genius. What infernal 
stuff all that, about nature and art! Why, Pof)e himself set- 
tles the question against our friend Bowles m one line : — 

** Nature must give way to Art." 

North. Pope's poetry is full of nature, at least of what I 
uave been in the constant habit of accounting nature for the 
last threescore and ten years. But (thank you, James, that 
snuff is really delicious !) leaving nature and art, and all that 
sort of thing, I wish to ask a single question — What poet of 
this age, with the exception perhaps of Byron, can be justly 
said, when put into close comparison with Pope, to havf 
written the English language at all ? 

Shepherd. Tut, tut, Mr. North ; you needna gang far to 
get an answer to that question. I can write the English lan- 
guage — I'll no say as well as Pop, for be was an Englishman, 
but 

•North. Well, I shall except you, James ; but, with the 
single exception of Hogg, from what living poet is it possible 
to select any passage that will bear to be spouted (say by 



6 Superiority of Pope. 

James Ballantyne * himself, the best declaimer extant) after 
any one of fifty casually taken passages from Pope ? — Not 
one. 

Tickler. What would become of Bowles himself, with all 
his elegance, pathos, and true feeling ? Oh, dear me, James ! 
what a dull, dozing, disjointed, dawdling dowdy of a drawl 
would be his Muse, in her very best voice and tune, when 
called upon to get up and sing a solo after the sweet and 
strong singer of Twickenham ! 

North. Or Wordsworth — with his eternal — Here we go 
up, up, and up, and here we go down, down, and here we go 
roundabout, roundabout ! Look at the nerveless laxity of his 
Excursion I What interminable prosing ! The language is 
out of condition, — ^fat and fozy, thick- winded, purfled and 
plethoric. Can he be compared with Pope ? Fie on't ! no, 
no, no ! — Pugh, pugh ! 

Tickler. Southey — Coleridge — Moore ? 

North. No ; not one of them. They are all eloquent, dif- 
fusive rich, lavish, generous, prodigal of their words. But 
so are they all deficient in sense, muscle, sinew, thews, ribs, 
spine. Pope, as an artist, beats them hollow. Catch him 

twaddlinoC" 

Shepherd. I care far less about Pop, and the character 
and genius of Pop, than I do about our own Byron. Many 
a cruel thing has been uttered against him, and I wish, Mr. 
North, you would vindicate him, now that his hand is cauld. 

North. I have written a few pages for my next number, 
which I think will please you, James. Pray, what do you 
consider the most wicked act of Byron's whole wicked life ? 

Shepherd. I declare to God, that I do not know of any one 
wicked act in his life at all. Tickler, there, used to cut him 
up long ago, — what says he now ? 

* The friend of Sir Walter Scott. 



The Death of Byron, 7 

Tickler . The base multitude, day after day, week after 
week, month after month, year after year, got ujj brutal 
falsehoods concerning his private life, and these they mixed 
up and blended with their narrow and confused conceptions 
of his poetical productions, till they imagined the real, livinir, 
flesh-and-blood Byron to be a monster, familiarly known to 
them in all his hideous propensities and practices. He was, 
with all his faults, a noble being, and I shall love Hobhouse"*' 
as long as I live. What it is to be a gentleman ! 

North. The character of one of the greatest poets the 
world ever saw, in a very few years, will be discerned in the 
clear light of truth. How quickly all misrepresentations rlie 
away ! One hates calumny, because it is ugly and odious in 
its own insignificant and impotent stinking self. But it is al- 
most always extremely harmless. I believe at this moment that 
Byron is thought of as a man, with an almost universal feel- 
ing of pity, forgiveness, admiration and love. I do not think 
it would be safe in the most popular preacher to abuse Byron 
now, — and that not merely because he is now dead, but be- 
cause England knows the loss she has sustained in the ex- 
tinction of her most glorious luminary. 

Shepherd. I hae nae heart to speak ony mair about him — 
puir fallow. I'll try the pfckled this time — the scalloped 
are beginning to lie rather heavy on my stomach. Oysters 
is the only thing maist we canna get at Altrive. But we have 
capital cod and haddock now in St. Mary's Loch. 

Tickler. James ! — James ! — James ! 

Shepherd. Nane o' your jeering, Mr. Tickler. The nat- 
uralization of sea-fishes into fresh-water lochs was recom- 
mended some years ago in the Edinburgh Review, and twa- 
three 'o us, out by yonner, have carried the thing into effect. 

* John Cam Hobhouse, afterwards Lord Broughton—tlie friend of Byron 
wlien living, and liis defender when dead. 



8 Haddocks in St Mary's lioclt. 

We tried the oysters too, but we could mak nathing ava o^ 
tliem — they dwindled into a kind o' wulks, and were quite 
fushionless,* a' beards and nae bodies. 

Tickler, I thought the scheme phiusible at the time. I 
I'ead it in the Edinburgh^ which I like, by the way, much 
better as a zoological than a political journal. Have you 
sent a creel of codling-s to the editor ? 

Shepherd. Why, I have felt some delicacy about it just at 
present. I was afraid that he might think it a bribe for a 
favorable opinion of Queen Hynde.\ 

North. No, — no. Jeffrey has a soul above bribery or 
corruption. All the cod in Christendom would not shake his 
integrity. You had, however, better send half-a-dozen riz- 
zered haddocks to Tom Campbell. 

Shepherd. My boy Tammy wull never choke himself wi' 
my fish-banes, Mr. North. 

North. Tom is fickle and capricious — and ever was so — but 
he has a fi.ne, a noble genius. 

Shepherd. I'm no dispooting that, Mr. North. No doubt, 
his Theodric is a grand, multifarious, sublime poem ; although, 
confound me, gin the worst fifty lines in a' Queen Hynde are 
nae worth the haill vollumm. . . . Wha's conceit % was the 
boiler ? 

Tickler. Your humble servant's. Ambrose goes to bed 
regularly at twelve, and Richard half an hour after. Occa- 
sionally, as at present, old friends are loath to go — so, not to 
disturb the slumbers of as worthy a family as is in all Scot- 
land, I ordered the boiler you now see at Begby and Dick- 
son's, St. Andrew Square. It holds exactly six common 
kettlefuls. Strike it with the poker. — Ay, James, you hear 
by the clearness of the tinkle that it is nearly low water. 

• FusMonless — ^without sap. f A poem by Hogg, published in 1825 . 

t Conceit — notion. 



'£}iQ Shepherd's Wealth, 9 

Shepherd. Deel ma care. I ken where the pump is in the 
back green — and if the wall's fanged,* I'll bring up a gush 
wi' a single drive. If no, let us finish the spirits by itsel'. 
I never saw the match o' this tall square fallow o' a green 
bottle for handing spirits. The verra neck o' him hands 
spirits for a jug, before you get down to his shouthers ; and 
we'se a' three be blin' fou or we see the crystal knob inside 
o' the doup o' him peering up amang the subsiding waters of 
Glenlivet. 

North. I have bequeathed you Magog in my settlement, 
James. With it, and Tickler's Cremona, many a cheerful 
night will you spend, when we two old codgers have laid off 
life's pack — 

At our feet a green grass turf, 
And at our head a stone. 

Shepherd. You and Mr. Tickler are very gude in leaving 
me things in your wuU ; but I would prefer something in 
haun 

North. Then, my dear friend, there is a receipt for your 
last article — the Shepherd's Calendar. 

Shepherd. Twa tens ! Come noo,sirs, let me pay the reck- 
onii)g. . . . Are ye gaun to raise the price of a sheet this 
Lady-day, Mr. North ? 

North. My dear Hogg, what would you have ? You are 
rolling in wealth — are you not ? 

Hogg. Ay ; but I wad like fine to be ower the head a'the- 
gither, man. That's my apothegm. 

North. Let me see — Well, I think I may promise you a 
twenty-gallon tree this next Whitsunday, by way of a dou- 
ceur — a small j)erquisite. 

Hogg. Twenty gallons, man, — that does not serve our 
house for sax weeks in the summer part of the year, when 

* "WTien tlie piston of a pump-well ceases to work from having become too 
dry, water is poured down upor it to restore the action. This operation-is 
called/an^my the well. 



10 Bucluuian Lodge.. 

a' the leeteraiy warld is tramping about. But ne'er heed — 
mony thanks to you for your kind offer, sir. 

North. You must come down to my '* happy rural seat of 
various view," James, on your spring visit to Edinburgh — 
Buchanan Lodge. 

Shepherd. Wi' a' my heart, Mr. North. I hear you'v-o 
been biggin a bonny lodge near Larkfield yonder, within the 
murmur of the sea. A walk on the beach is a gran' thing 
for an appetite. Let's hear about your house. 

North. The whole tenement is on the ground flat. I 
abhor stairs ; and there can be no peace in any mansion 
where heavy footsteps may be heard overhead. Suppose 
James, three sides of a square. You approach the front by 
a fine serpentine avenue, and enter, slap-bang, through a 
wide glass door, into a greenhouse, a conservatory of every- 
thinir rich and rare in the world of flowers. Folding doors 
are drawn noiselessly into the walls, as if by magic, and lo ! 
drawinor-room and dinino^-room, stretchino^ east and west in 
dim and distant perspective, commanding the Firth, the sea, 
the kingdom of Fife, and the Highland mountains ! 

Shepherd. Mercy on us, what a panorama ! 

North. Another side of the square contains kitchen, ser- 
vants' room, etc. ; and the third side my study and bedrooms, 
— all still, silent, composed, standing obscure, unseen, unap- 
proachable, holy. The fourth side of the square is not, — 
shrubs, and trees, and a productive garden shut me from lie- 
bind ; while a ring-fence, enclosing about five acres, just 
sufficient for my nag and cow, form a magical circle, into 
which nothing vile or profane can intrude. O'Doherty 
alone has overleaped my wall, — but the Adjutant was in 
training for his great match (ten miles an hour), and when 
he ran bolt against me in Addison's Walk,* declared upon 

* So named after the celebrated walk in tlie Grounds of Magdalen CoU<»^e, 
Oxford, where Professor Wilson was educated. 



Tlie 3Iysteries of Jncnhation, 11 

honor that he was merely taking a step across the country, 
and that lie had no idea of being within a mile of any human 
abode. However, he stayed dinner — and over the Sunday. 

Shepherd. Do you breed poultry, sir ? — You dinna ? Do't 
then. You hae plenty o' bounds within five yacre. But 
mind you, big* nae regular hen-house, You'll hae bits o' 
sheds, nae doubt, ahint the house, amang, the offishes, and 
through amang the grounds ; and the belts o' plantations are 
no very wide, nor the sherubberies stravagin awa into wild 
mountainous regions o' heather, whins, and breckans. 

North. Your imagination, James, is magnificent, even in 
negatives. But is all this poetry about hen-roosts ? 

Shepherd. Ay. Let the creturs mak their ain nests 
where'er they like pheasants, or patricks, or muirfowl. 
Their flesh will be the sappiei", and mair highly flavored on 
the board, and their shape and plummage beautifuller far, 
strutting about at liberty amoiig your suburbs. Aboon a' 
things, for the love o' heevin, nae cavies ! f I can never help 
greeting, half in anger half in pity, when I see the necks o' 
some half-a-score forlorn chuckles jouking out and in the 
narrow bars o' their prison-house, dabbing at daigh and 
drummock.J I wonder if Mrs Fry ever saw sic a pitiful 
S23ectacle. 

North. I must leave the feathers to my females, James. 

SJisplierd. Canna you be an overseer? Let the hens aj^e 
set theirsels ; and never offer to tak ony notice o' the dockers. 
They canna thole being looked at when they come screech- 
ing out frae their het eggs, a' in a ever, with their feathers 
tapsetowry, and howking holes in the yearth, till the gravel 
gangs down-through and aff among the plummage like dew- 
draps, and now scouring aff to some weel-kend corner for 
drink and victual. 

♦ Big — ^build, t Cariw— hen-coops. 

t Daigh and drummocJe— dough and cold porridge. 



12 JJ-099 <^^ Hoiv-towdies. 

North. You amaze me, James. You are opening up quite 
a new world to me. The mysteries of incubation . . , 

Hogg. liae a regular succession o' Clackins frae about 
the mitl o' March till the end o' August, and never de- 
vour aff a haill clackin at ance. Aye keep some three or 
four pullets for eerocks, or for devouring through the winter; 
and never set aboon fourteen esrsfs to ae hen, nor indeed 
mair than a dizzen, unless she be a weel-feathered mawsie,* 
and broad across the slioulders. 

North. Why, the place will be absolutely overrun with 
barn-door fowl. 

Shepherd. Barn-door fowl ! Hoot awa ! You maun hae 
agreed o' gem- birds. Nane better than the lady -legg'd reds. 
T ken the verra gem-eggs at the first pree frae your dunghill 
— a different as a pine-apple and fozy turnip. 

Noj'th. The conversation has taken an unexpected turn, 
my dear Shepherd. I had intended keeping a few deer. 

Shepherd. A few deevils ! Na — na. You maun gang to 
the Thane's ; t or if that princely chiel be in Embro' or 
Lunnon, to James Laidlaw's and Watty Bryden's, in Strathr 
glass, if you want deer. Keep you to the how-towdies. 

North. I hope, Mr. Hogg, you will bring the mistress and 
the weans to the house-warmino; ? 

Shepherd. I'll do that, and mony mair besides them. Whare 
the deevil's Mr. Tickler ? 

North. Off. He pretended to go to the pump for an 
aquatic supply, but he long ere now has reached South- 
side. $ 

* An easy-tempered, somewhat slovenly female is called in Scotland a 
mawsie. 

t The Tliane was the Earl of Fife, whose estates in Braemar abound in red 
deer. James Laidlaw and Walter Biyden were sheep farmers in Strathglass. 
The former was the brother of William Laidlaw, Sir Walter Scott's friend 
and factor. 

t Mr. Itobert Sym, of whom Timothy Tickler was in some respects tho 
eidolon, resided in No, 20 George Square, on the south side of Edinburgh, 



A Soyig hy the Sltepherd. 13 

Shepherd. That's maist extraordinar. I could liae ta'enmy 
Bible oatli that I kept seeing him a' this time sitting right 
foreanent me, with his lang legs and nose, and een like 
daggers ; but it must hae been aue o' Hibbert's phantasms — 
ftn idea has become more vivid than a present sensation. Is 
that philosophical language ? What took him aff ? I could 
sit for ever. Catch me breaking up the conviviality of the 
company. I'm just in grand spirits the nicht — come, here's 
an extempore lilt. 

Air, " Whistle, and Pll come to ye, my lad." 
If e'er jou would be a brave fellow, young man, 
Beware of tlie Blue and tlie Mellow, * young man ; 

If ye wud be Strang, 

And wish to write lang, 
Come, join wi' the lads that get Mellow, young man. 
Like the crack o' a squib that has f a'en on, young man, 
Compared wi' the roar o' a cannon, young man, 

So is the "Whig's blow 

To the pith that's below 
The beard o' auld Geordie Buchanan, t young man. 

Re-enter Tickler. 

Shepherd. There's Harry Longleggs. 

Tickler. I felt somewhat hungry so long after supper, and 
having detected a round of beef in a cupboard, I cut off a 
segment of a circle, and have been making myself comfortable 
at the solitary kitchen fire. 

North (rising). Come away, my young friend. Give me 
your arm, James. That will do, Shepherd — softly, sfewly, 
my dearest Hogg — no better supporter than the author of 
the Qaeeiis WaJce. 

Sltepherd. What a gran' ticker is Mr. Ambrose's clock ! It 

* The " Blue and the Yellow" is the Edinburgh Hevieta. 
t The effiyies of George Buchanan is the frontispiece to Blackwood's Maga. 
tine. 



14 Tlvree o'clock a. m. 

beats like the strong, regular pulse of a healthy horse. 
Whirr ! whirr ! wliirr ! Hear till her gi'eing the warning, 
I'll just finish these twa half tumblers o' porter, and the wee 
drappie in the bit blue noseless juggy. As sure's death, it 
has chapped three. The lass that sits up at the Harrow *'ll 
hae gane to the garret, and how'll I get in ? 

{Sus canit.)—0 let me in this ae night, 
This ae ae ae night, etc. 

With a' our daffin, we are as sober as three judges with 
double gowns. 

Tickler. As sober I 

Mr. Ambrose looks out in his nightcap, wishing good- 
night with his usual suavity. Exeunt — Tickler in 
advance — and North leaning on the Shepherd. 



♦ The sign of the hostelrie near the Grassmarket where Hogg resided when 
in Edinburgh. 



11. 

IN WHICH TICKLER NARRATES HIS EXPERIENCES 
A T DALNA CARD CH. 

North. Let us have some sensible conversation, Timothy 
At our time of life such colloquy is becoming. 

TicHer. Why the devil would you not come to Dalnacar- 
doch ? * Glorious guffawing all night, and immeasurable 
murder all day. Twenty-seven brace of birds, nine hares, 
three roes, and a red deer stained the heather on the Twelfth, 
beneath my single-barrelled Joe — not to mention a pair of 
patriarchal ravens, and the Loch-Ericht eagle, whose leg 
was broken by the Prince when hiding in the moor of 
Rannoch. 

North. Why kill the royal bii'd ? 

Tickler. In self-defence. It bore down upon Sancho like a 
sunbeam from its eyrie on the cliff of Snows, and it would 
have broken his back with one stroke of its wing, had I not 
sent a ball right through its heart. It went up, with a yell, 
a hundred fathom into the clear blue air ; and then, striking 
a green knoll in the midst of the heather, bounded down the 
rockv hill-side, and went shiverino^ and whizzinof alono; the 
black surface of a tarn, till it lay motionless in a huge heap 
among the water lilies. 

North. Lost? 

TickleA\ I stripped instanter — six feet four and three-quar- 

* A sliooting-qiiarter in tlie liiglilands of Pertligliire, occupied in the slim- 
mer of 1825 by some friends of Professor Wilson. 

15 



16 Tickler " in puris naturallbus.''^ 

ters in puris naturalilus — and out-Byroning Byron, shot in 
twenty seconds, a furlong across the Fresh. Grasping the 
bird of Jove in my right, with my left I rowed my airy state 
towards the spot where I had left my breeches and other 
habiliments. Espying a trimmer, I seized it in my mouth, 
and on relanding at a small natural pier, as I hope to be 
shaved, lo ! a pike of twenty -pound standing, with a jaw like 
an alligator, and reaching from my hip to my instep, smote 
the heather, like a flail, into a shower of blossoms. 
North. Was there a cloud of witnesses ? 
Tickler. To be sure there was. A hundred stills beheld 
me from the mountain-sides. Shepherd and smuggler cheered 
me like voices in the sky ; and the old genius of the solitary 
place rustled applause through the reeds and rushes, and 
birch-trees among the rocks — paced up and down the shore 
in triumph . . . 

North. What a subject for the painter! Oh that Sir 
Thomas Lawrence * or our own John Watson, f had been 
there to put you on canvas ! Or shall I rather say, would 
that Chantrey had been by to study you for immortal mar- 
ble! 

Tickler. Braced by the liquid plunge, I circled the tarn at 
ten miles an hour. Unconsciously I had taken my Manton 
into my hand — and unconsciously reloaded — when, just as I 
was clearing the feeder-stream, not less than five yards across 
up springs a red deer, who, at the death of the eagle, had 
cowered down in the brake, and wafted away his antlers in 
the direction of Benvoirlich. We were both going at the 
top of our speed when I fired, and the ball piercing his spine 
the magnificent creature sunk down, and died almost without 
a convulsion. 

* Sir Thomas Lawrence died in 1830. 

t Afterwards Sir John Watson Gordon, President of the Royal Scottish 
Academy. « 



Apollo mid Daphne. 17 

North, Red deer, eagle, and pike, all dead as mutton ! 

Tickler. I sat down upon the forehead, resting an arm on 
each antler — Sancho sitting with victorious eves on the 
carcase. I sent him off to the tarn-side for my pocket-pistol, 
charged with Glenlivet No. 5. In a few minutes he returned, 
and crouched down with an air of mortification at my feet. 

North. Ho ! ho ! the fairies have spirited away your nether 
integuments ! 

TicMer. Not an article to be seen ! — save and except my 
shoes ! — Jacket, waistcoat, flannel shirt, breeches, all melted 
away with the mountain dew ! There was I like Adam in 
Paradise, or — 

" Lady of the Mere, 
Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance." 

North. Did not the dragon-flies attack you — the winged 
ants — and the wasp of the desert ? 

Tickler. A figure moved along the horizon — a female figure 
— a Light and Shadow of Celtic Life — and, as I am a 
Christian, I beheld my buckskin breeches dangling over her 
shoulders. I neared upon the chase, but saw that Malvina 
was making for a morass. Whiz went a ball within a stride 
of her petticoats, and she deflected her course towards a 
wood on the right. She dropped our breeches. I literally 
leaped into them ; and, like Apollo in pursuit of Daphne, 
pursued my impetuous career. 

North. To Diana ! — to Diana ascends the virgin's prayer ! 

Tickler. Down went, one after the other, jacket, waistcoat, 
• flannel shirt, — would you believe it, her own blue linsey- 
woolsey petticoat ! Thus lightened, she bounded over the 
little knolls like a barque over Sicilian seas ; in ten minutes 
she had fairly run away from me hull-down, and her long 
yellow hair, streaming like a pendant, disappeared in the 
forest. 



x 



18 Spoiling the Egyptians, 

North. What have you done with the puir lassie's petti- 
coat ? 

Tlclder, I sent it to m}^ friend Dr. M'Culloch, to lie among 
his otlier relics ... of Hisfhland screed. 

North. If idle folks will wander over the Ilighlands, and g;pt 
Lhe natives to show them how to follow their noses throuuli 
the wildernesses, ought they not to pay handsomely for being 
saved from perdition, in bogs, quagmires, mosses, shelving 
lake-shores, fords and chasms ? 

Tickler. Undoubtedly ; and if the orphan son of some old 
Celt, who perhaps fought under Abercromby, and lost his 
eyes in ophthalmia, leave his ordinary work beside his 
shieling, be it what it may, or give up a day's sport on the 
hill or river to accompanj'" a Sassenach* some thirty miles 
over the moors, with his big nag, too, loaded with mineralogy 
and botany, and all other matter of trash, are five shillings, 
or twice five, a sufficient remuneration ? Not they, indeed. 
Pay him like a post-chaise, fifteenpence a mile, and send him 
to his hut rejoicing through a whole winter. 

North. Spoken like a gentleman. So, with boats, a couple 
of poor fellows live, and that is all, by rowing waif and stray 
Sassenachs over lochs or arms of the sea. No regular ferry, 
mind you. Perhaps days and weeks pass by without their 
boat being called for — and yet grumble and growl is the go 
as soon as they hold out a hand for silver or gold. Recollect, 
old or young hunks, that you are on a tour of pleasure — that 
you are as fat as a barn-door fowl ; and these two boatmen 
— there they are grinding Gaelic — as lean as laths ; — what 
the worse will you be of being cheated a little ? But if you 
grudge a guinea, why, go round by the head of the loch, and 
twenty to one you are never seen again in this world. 

Tickler. The Hiojhlanders are far from belno^ extortioners. 

• Sassenach — a Lowlander or Englishman. 



y 



GrrouseSoup . 1 9 

A-ii extraordinary price must be paid for an extraordinary 
service. But, oh ! my dear North, what grouse-soup at Dal- 
nacardoch ! You smell it on the homeward hill, as if it were 
t'.vlialing from the heather: deeper and deeper still, as you 
"]>roafh the beautiful chimney vomiting forth its intermit- 
::'L' columns of cloLid-like peat-smoke, that melts afar over 
!ie wilderness! 

North. Yes, Tickler — it was Burke that vindicated the 
claims of smells to the character of the sublime and beautiful. 

TicMer. Yes, yes ! Burke it was. As you enter the inn, 
the divine afflatus penetrates your soul. When up-stairs 
perhaps in the garret, adorning for dinner, it rises like a 
cloud of rich distilled perfumes through every chink on the 
floor, every cranny of the wall. The little mouse issues from 
his hole, close to the foot of the bed-post, and raising him- 
self, squirrel-like, on his hinder-legs, whets his tusks with his 
merry-paws and smooths his whiskers. 

North. Shakespearean ! 

Tickler. There we are, a band of brothers round the glorious 
tureen ! Down goes the ladle into " a profoundis clamavi^^ 
and up floats from that blessed Erebus a dozen cunningly 
resuscitated spirits. Old cocks, bitter to the back-bone, lov- 
ingly alternating with young pouts, whose swelling bosoms 
miglit seduce an anchorite! 

North (risi7ig). I must ring for supper, Ambrose- Ambrose 
— Ambrose ! 

Tickler. No respect of persons at Dalnacardoch ! I plump 
I hem into the plates around sans selection. No matter al- 
though the soup play jawp* frompresesto croupier. There 
too sit a few choice spirits of pointers round the board — Don 
— Jupiter — Sancho — " and the rest" — with steadfast eyes 
and dewy chops, patient alike of heat, cold, thirst, and hun 

• .Taw/'— spaiali. 



20 Tickler's Polggamy. 

ger — dogs of the desert indeed, and nose-led by unerring 
instinct riglit up to the cowering covey in the heather groves 
on tlie mountain-side. 

North. Is eagle good eating, Timothy? Pococke the trn- 
veller used to eat lion : lion pasty is excellent, it is said- 
but is not eagle tough ? 

TicUer. Thicrh a'cod, devilled. The deliVht of the Tlii^l' 
lands is in the Highland feeling. That feeling is entirely 
destroj^ed by stages and regular progression. The waterfalls 
do not tell upon sober parties — it is tedious in the extreme 
to be drenched to the skin alono; hisfh-roads— the rattle of 
wheels blends meanly with thunder — and lightning is con- 
temptible, seen from the window of a glass coach. To enjoy 
mist, you must be in the heart of it, as a solitary hunter, 
shooter, or angler. Lightning is nothing unless a thousand 
feet below you,* and the live thunder must be heard leap- 
ing, as Byron says, from mountain to mountain, otherwise 
you might as well listen to a mock peal from the pit of a 
theatre. 

North. Pray, Tickler, have you read Milton's Treatise on 
Christianity ?t 

Tickler. I have ; and feel disj30sed to agree with him in 
his doctrine of polygamy. For many years I lived very com- 
fortably without a wife ; and since the year 1820 I have been a 
monogamist. But I confess that there is a sameness in thai 
system. I should like much to try polygamy for a few year,-. 
I wish Milton had explained the duties of a polygamist ; foj' 
it is possible that they m^y be of a very intricate, compli- 

* In Ms " Address to a Wild Deer." Professor WiiS'ni snys of the hunter : 
*' 'Tie his, hy tlie mouth of some cavern liis seat, 
The lightning of heaven to hold at his feet, 
While the thunder below him that growl? !rom the cloud, 
To him comes o!i echo moi-e .awfinl}- loud." 

'"At tlialtliiie r(;>.-;.'T)T";vdiHi'r-v*'!>vl. 



Milton. , 21 

cated, and unbounded nature, and that such an accumulation 
of private business might be thrown on one's hands that it 
could not be in the power of an elderly gentleman to over- 
take it ; occupied, too as he might be, as in my own case, in 
contributing to the Periodical Literature of the age. 

North. Sir, the system would not be found to work well 
in this climate. Milton was a great poet, but a bad divine, 
and a miserable politician. 

Tickler. How can that be ? — Wordsworth says that a great 
poet must be great in all things. 

North. Wordsworth often writes like an idiot ; and never 
more so than when he said of Milton, " His s ul was like a 
star, and dwelt apart ! " For it dwelt in tumult, and mis- 
chief, and rebellion. Wordsworth is, in all things, the re- 
verse of Milton — a good man and a bad poet. 

Tickler. What ! — That Wordsworth whom Maga cries up 
as the Prince of Poets ? 

North. Be it so ; I must humor the fancies of some of my 
friends. But had that man been a great poet, he would have 
produced a deep and lasting impression on the mind of Eng- 
land ; whereas his verses are becoming less and less known 
every day, and he is, in good truth, already one of the illus- 
trious obscure. 

Tickler. I never thought him more than a very ordinary 
man — with some imagination, certainly, but with no grasp of 
understanding, and apparently little acquainted with the his- 
tory of his kind. My God ! to compare such a writer with 
Scott and Byron ! 

North. And yet, with his creed, what might not a great 
]>oet have done ? — That' the language of poetry is but the 
language of strong human passion ! — That in the great 
elementary principles of thought and feeling common to all 
tlie race, the subject-matter of poetry is to be sought and 



22 \The .Exnu?\sio7i. 

found! — That enjoyment and suffering, as they wring and 
crush, or expand and elevate, men's hearts, are the sources 
of song ! — And what, pra}"-, has he made out of this true and 
philosophical creed ? — A few ballads (pretty at the best), 
two or three moral fables, some natural description of scenery, 
and half-a-dozen narratives of common distress or happiness. 
Not one sincjle cliaracter has he created — not one incident — 
not one tragical catastrophe. He has thrown no light on man's 
estate here below ; and Crabbe, with all his defects, stands 
immeasurably above Wordsworth as the Poet of the Poor. 

TicMer. Good. And yet the youngsters, in that absurd 
Magazine of yours, set him up to the stars as their idol, and 
kiss his very feet, as if the toes were of gold. 

North, Well, well ; let them have their own way a while. 
J confess that tlie " Excursion " is the worst poem, of any 
character, in the English language. It contains about two 
hundred sonorous lines, some of which appear to be fine even 
in the sense as well as in the sound. The remainino; seven 
thousand three hundred are quite ineffectual. Then, what 
labor the builder of that lofty rhyme must have undergone ! 
It is, in its own way, a small Tower of Babel, and all built 
by a single man ! 

Tickler. Wipe your forehead. North ; for it is indeed a 
most perspiring thought. I do not know whether my gal- 
lantry blinds me,but I prefer much of the female to the male 
poetry of the day. 

North. thou Polygamist ! 

Tickler. And what the devil would you be at with your 
great bawling He-Poets from the Lakes, who go round and 
round about, strutting upon nothing, like so many turkey 
cocks, gobbling with a Ln^j red pendant at their noses, and 
frightening away the fan <tnd lovely swans as they glide 
down the waters of immortality ? 



Scott's Martial Spirit 23 

North. Scott's poetry puzzles me—it is often very bad. 

Tickler. Very. 

North. Except when liis martial soul is up, he is but a 
tame and feeble writer. His versification in general flows 
on easily — smoothly — almost sonorously ; but seldom or nev- 
er with impetuosity or grandeur. There if no strength, no 
felicity in his diction — and the substance of his poetry is 
neither rich nor rare. 

Tickler. But then, when his martial soul is up — and up it 
is at sight of a spear-point or a j)ennon — then indeed you 
hear the true poet of chivalry. What care I, Kit, for all 
his previous drivelling — if drivelling it be — and God forbid 1 
should deny drivelling to any poet, ancient or modern — for 
now he makes my very soul burn within me ; and, coward 
and civilian though I be, — yes, a most intense and insuperable 
coward, prizing life and limb beyond all other earthly pos- 
sessions, and loath to shed one single drop of blood either 
for my king or country, — jet such is the trumpet power of 
the song of that son of genius, that I start from my old 
elbow-chair, up with the poker, tongs, or shovel, no matter 
which, and flourishing it round my head, cry, — 

" Charge, Chester, charge ! On, Stanley, on ! " 

and then, dropping my voice, and returning to my padded 
bottom, whisper, 

" Were the last words of Marmion ! " 

North. Bravo — bravo — bravo ! 

Tickler. I care not one single curse for all the criticism 
that ever was canted, or decanted, or recanted. Neither does 
the world. The world takes a poet as it finds him, and seats 
him above or below the salt. The world is as obstinate as a 
million mules, and will not turn its hend on one side or 



24 Portrait of Wordsworth. 

another, for all tlie shouting of the critical population that 
ever was shouted. It is very possible that the world is a bad 
judge. Well, then, appeal to posterity, and be hanged to you, 
and posterity will affirm the judgment with costs. 

North. How you can jabber away so in such a temperature 
as this confounds me. You are indeed a singular old man. 

Tichler. Therefore I say that Scott is a Homer of a poet, 
and so let him doze when he has a mind to it; for no man I 
know is better entitled to an occasional half canto of slumber. 

North. Did you ever meet any of the Lake poets in private 
society ? 

Tichler. Five or six times. Wordsworth has a grave 
solemn, pedantic, awkward, out-of-the-worldish look about 
him, that rather puzzles you as to his probable profession, 
till he begins to speak — and then, to be sure, you set him 
down at once for a Methodist preacher. 

North. I have seen Chantrey's bust. 

Tichler. The bust flatters his head, which is not intellectual. 
The forehead is narrow, and the skull altogether too scanty. 
Yet the baldness, the gravity, and the composure are impres- 
sive, and, on the whole, net unpoetical. The eyes are dim 
and thoughtful, and a certain sweetness of smile occasionally 
lightens up the strong lines of his countenance with an ex- 
pression of courteousness and philanthropy. 

North. Is he not extremely eloquent ? 

Tichler. I'ar from it. He labors like a whale spouting — 
his voice is wearisomely monotonous — he does not know 
when to have done with a subject — oracularly announces per- 
petual truisms— never hits the nail on the head — and leaves 
you amazed with all that needless pother, which the simple 
bard opines to be eloquence, and which passes for such with 
his Cockney idolaters, and his catechumens at Ambleside and 
Keswick. 



Modern Conversation, 26 

North. Not during dinner, surely ? 

Tickler. Yes, during breakfast, lunch, dinner, tea, and 
supper, — every intermediate moment,^nor have I any 
doubt that he proses all night long in his sleep. 

North. Shocking indeed- In conversation, the exchange 
should be at par. That is the grand secret. Nor should 
any Christian ever exceed the maximum of. three consecutive 
sentences — except in an anecdote. 

Ticliler. O merciful heavens ! my dear North. What 
eternal talkers most men are now-a-days-^all at it in a party 
at once — each farthing candle anxious to shine forth with its 
own vile wavering wick — tremulously apprehensive of 
snuffers — and stinking away after expiration in the socket ! * 

North. Bad enough in town, but worse, far worse, in 
coun<^ry places. 

Tickler. The Surgeon ! The dominie ! The old minister's 
assistant and successor ! The president of the Speculative 
Society ! Two landscape painters ! The rejected contribu- 
tor to Blackwood I The agricultural reporter of the county ! 
The surveyor ! Captain Camjjbell ! The Laird, his son ! 
The stranger gentleman on a tour ! The lecturer on an or- 



* Scott's conversation is thus elsewhere described :— 

" Shepherd. I never in a' my born dayi, and I'm noo just the age o' Sir 
Walter, and, had he been leevin, o' Bonnypratt, met a perfeckly pleasant- 
thai is a'thegither enchantin man in a party — and I have lang thocht there's 
nae sic thing in existence as poo'rs o' conversation. There's Sir "Walter wi' 
his everlastin anecdotes, nine ont o' ten meanin naething, and the tenth 
itsel as auld as the Eildon Hills. Yet I love and venerate Sir Walter aboon 
a' ither leevin men excepL yoursel, sir, and for that reason try to thold his dis- 
course. As to his ever hearin richt ae single syllable o' what ye may be saylu 
to him, wi' the maist freendly intent o' enlichtenin his weak mind, you 
Diaun never indulge ony howp o' that kind— for o' a' the absent men when 
anither's speakin, that ever glowered in a body's face, without seemin token 
even wha he'slookin at, Sir Walter is the foremost ; and gin he behaved in 
that gate to a man o' original genius like me, you may conceive his treatment 
o' the sumphs and sumphesees that compose fasliionable society". 



2(i Ohlivion. 

rery ! The poet about to publish by subscription ! The 
person from Pitkeathly ! The man of the house himself — 
my God ! his wife and daughters ! and the widow, the wi- 
dow ! I can no more — the widow, the widow, the wido w ! 
(Sml's back in his chair.) 

North. I have heard Coleridge. That man is entitled to 
speak on till Doomsday — or rather the genius within him — 
for he is inspired. Wind him up, and away he goes, dis- 
coursing most excellent music — without a discord — full, am- 
ple, inexhaustible, serious, and divine ! 

Tickler. Add him to my list, and the band of instrument- 
al music is complete. 

North. It is pleasant to know how immediately every- 
thing said or done in this w^orld is forgotten. Murder a 
noveljOr a man, or a poem,or a child — forge powers of attorney 
without cessation during the prime of life,till old maids beyond 
all computation have been sold unsuspectingly out of the 
stocks in every country village in England — for a lustre 
furnish Balaam to a London magazine at thirty shillings j)er 
bray, — in short, let any man commit any enormity, and it is 
forgotten before the first of the month ! Who remembers 
anything but the bare names — and these indistinctly — of 
Thurtell, and Hunt, and Fauntleroy, and Hazlitt, and Tims, 
and Soames, and Sotheran ? Soap-bubbles all — blown, 
burst, vanished, and forgotten. 

Tickler, Why, you almost venture to republish Maga her- 
( It in numbers, under the smirk of a New Series. I know 
I woi-tliy and able minister of our church, who has been 
pleaching (and long may he preach it) the self -same sermon 
lor upwards of forty years. About the year 1802 I began to 
suspect him ; but having then sat below him only for some 
dozen years oi- so, I could not, of course, in a matter of so 
much delicacy, dare trust to my very imperfect memory 



A Veteran Sermon. 27 

Durini^ the Whig ministry of 1806, my attention was strong- 
ly riveted to the " practical illustrations," and I could have 
sworn to the last twenty minutes of his discourse, as to the 
voice of a friend familiar in early youth. About the time 
your jMagazine first dawned on the world, my belief of its 
identity extended to the whole discourse ; and the good old 
man liimself, in the delight of his heart, confessed to me the 
Lruth a few Sabbaths after the Chaldee. 

jVorth. Come, now, tell nae truth — have you ever palmed 
off any part of it upon me in the shape of an article ? 

Tickle?'. Never, 'pon honor ; but you shall get the whole 
of it some day, as a Number One ; for, now that he has got 
an assistant and successor, the sermon is seldom employed, 
and he has bequeathed it me in a codicil to his will. 

North. I cannot imagine, for the life of me, what Ambrose 
is about. Hush ! there he comes. {Enter Ambrose.) 
What is the meaning of this, sir ? 

Ambrose. Unfold. 

{Folding-doors thrown open, and supper-taUe is shown. 

Tickler. What an epergne ! Art — art. What would our 
friend Bowles say to that. North ? " Tadmore thus, and 
Syrian Balbec rose." — {Transeunt omjies.) 

Scene II. — The Pitt Saloon. 

.Yorfh. Hogg, with his hair powdered, as I endure ! 
-( Jod 1)less you, James — how are you all at Altrive? 

Shepherd. All's well — wool up — ^nowte* on the rise — 
li;irve.st stacked without a shower — potatoes like stones in 
the Meggat — turnips like cabbages, and cabbages like bal- 
loons — bairns brawly, and Mistress bonnier than ever. — It is 
quite an annus inirahilis. 

Tichler. James, my heart warms to hear your voice. 

♦ .Vci7/7;e— cattle. A streajiQ near Hog-^'s farra 



28 Sogg on Jiis High-liorse. 

That suit of black becomes you extremely — you would make 
au excellent Moderator of the General Assembly.* 

Shepherd. You mistake the matter entirely, Tickler ; your 
eyesight fails j'-ou ; — my coat is a dark blue — waistcoat and 
breeches the same — but old people discern objects indistinct- 
ly by candle-light, or I shall rather say, by gas-light. Tiie 
radiance is beautiful. 

2Yckle?\ The radiance is beautiful ! 

Shepherd. Why, you are like old Polonius in the play 1 I 
hate an echo — l)e orii^inal or silent. 

Tickler. James ! 

Shepherd. Mr. Hogg, if you please, sir. Why, you think 
because I am good-natured, that you and North, and " the 
rest," are to quiz the Shepherd ? Be it so — no objections — 
but hearken to me, Mr. Tickler, my name will be remem- 
bered when the dust of oblivion is yard-deep on the grave- 
stone of the whole generation of Ticklers. Who are you — • 
what are you — whence are you — whither are you going, and 
what have you got to say for yourself ? A tall fellow, un- 
doubtedly — but Measure for Measure is the comedy in which 
I choose to act to-night — so, gentlemen, be civil — or I will 
join the party at Spinks'f — and set up an opposition Maga- 
zine, that . . . 

North. This is most extraordinary behavior, Mr. Hogg ; 
and any apology ... 

Shepherd. I forgive you, Mr. North — ^but . . . 

North. Come — come, you see Tickler is much affected. 

Shepherd. So am I, sir — but is it to be endured . . , 

Tickler. Pardon me, James ; say that you pardon me — at 
my time of life a man cannot afford to lose a friend. No, 
he cannot indeed. 

* Of the Church of Scotland. 

t Spink?" TTotel,— the resort (rGal or supposed) of opposition Kteraiy coi> 
vivinljsts. 



He descends. 29 

Shepherd. Your hand, Mr. Tickler. But I will not be the 
butt of any company. 

North. I fear some insidious enemy has been poisoning your 
ear, James. Never has any one of us ceased, for a moment, 
to respect you, or to hear you with respect, from the time 
that you wrote the Clialdee Manuscript . . . 

Shepherd. Not another word — not another word — if you 
love me. 

North. Plave the Cockneys been bribing you to desert us^ 
James ? 

Shepherd, The Cockneys ! Puir misbegotten deevils ! (I 
maun to speak Scotch again now that I'm in good humor.) I 
would rather crack nuts for a haill winter's nicht wi' a mon- 
key, than drink the best peck o' mawt that ever was brewed 
wi' the King himsel' o"' that kintra. 

North. I understood you were going to visit London this 
winter. 

Shepherd. I am. But I shall choose my ain society there, 
as 1 do in Embro' and Yarrow. . . . 

(Here follows the Supper.) 

Tickler. James, you are the worst smoker of a cigar in 
Christendom. No occasion to blow like a hi^Dpopotamus. 
Look at me or North — you would not know we breathed. 

Shepherd. It's to keep mysel' frae falliu' asleep. Hear till 
that auld watchman, crawing the hour like a bit bantam. 
What's the cretur screeching ? Twa o'clock ! ! Mercy me ! — 
we maun be aff. {Exeunt omnes.) 



m. 

IN THE BLUE PARLOR. 
North. — Shepherd. — Tickler. 

North. Thank heaven for winter ! Would that it lasted 
all year long ! Spring is pretty well in its way, with budding 
brandies and carolling birds, and wirapling burnies, andfleec} 
skies, and dew-like showers softenins^ and brighteuincr the 
bosom of old mother earth. Summer is not much amiss, with 
umbrageous woods, glittering atmosphere, and awakening 
thunderstorms. Nor let me libel Autumn, in her gorgeous 
bounty, and her beautiful decays. But Winter, dear, cold- 
lianded and warm-hearted Winter, welcome thou to my fur-clad 
bosom ! Thine are the sharp, short, bracing, invigorating 
days, that screw up muscle, fibre, and nerve, like the strings 
or an old Cremona discoursinsr excellent music — thine the 
long snow-silent or hail-rattling nights, with earthly firesides 
and heavenly luminaries, for home comforts, or travelling 
imaginations, for undisturbed imprisonment, or unbounded 
freedom, for the affections of the heart and the flights of the 
soul' Thine, too — 

Shepherd. Thine, too, skatin, and curlin, and grewln,* and 
a' sorts o' deevilry amang lads and lasses atrockins and kirns. 
Beef and greens ! Beef and greens ! Oh, Mr. North, beef 
and greens ! 

• Orewin — coursing. 

30 



A Plea for Winter. 31 

North. Yes, James, I sympathize with your enthusiasm. 
Now, and now only, do carrots and turnips deserve the name. 
Tlie season this of rumps and rounds. Now the whole nation 
sets in for serious eatino- — serious and substantial eatin^, 
James, half leisure, half labor — the table loaded with a lease 
of life, and each dish a year. In the presence of that Haggis 
1 feel myself immortal. 

Shepherd. Butcher-meat, though, and coals are likely, let 
me tell you, to sell at a perfec' ransom frae Martinmas to 
Michaelmas. 

North. Paltry thought. Let beeves and muttons look up, 
even to the stars, and fuel be precious as at the Pole. Another 
slice of the stot, James, another slice of the stot — and, Mr. 
Ambrose, smash that half-ton lump of black diamond till the 
chimney roar and radiate like Mount Vesuvius. — Why so 
glum. Tickler ? — why so glum ? 

Tickler. This outrageous merriment grates my spirits. I 
am not in the mood. 'Twill be a severe winter, and I think 
of the poor. 

North. Why the devil think of the poor at this time of 
da}" ? Are not wages good, and work plenty, and is not 
charity a British virtue ? 

Shepherd. I never heard sic even-doun nonsense in a' my 
born days. . . . Mr. Tickler, there's nae occasion, man, to 
look sae doun-in-the-mouth— everybody kens ye're a man o' 
genius, without your pretending to be melancholy. 

Tickler. I have no appetite, James. 

Shepherd. Nae appeteet ! how suld ye hae an appeteet ? A 
bowl o' Mollygo-tawny soup, wi' bread in proportion — twa 
codlins (wi' maist part o' a labster in that sass) — the first gash 
o' the jiget — stakes — then I'm maist sure, pallets, and finally 
guse — no to count jeelies and coosturd, and bluemange, and 
many million mites in that Campsie Stilton — better than ony 



52 Tickler^ s Ajypetite. 

English — a pot o' draught — twa long shankers o' ale, noes 
and thans a sip o' the auld port, and just afore grace a caulker 
o' Glenlivet, that made your een glower and water in your 
head as if you had been looking at Mrs. Siddons in the sleep- 
walking scene in Shakespeare's tragedy of Macbeth — gin ye 
had an appeteet after a' that destruction o' animal and vege- 
table matter, your maw would be like that o' Death himsel, 
and your stamach insatiable as the grave 

Tickler. Mr. Ambrose, no laughter, if you please, sir. 

North. Come, come. Tickler — had Hogg and Ileraclitus 
been contemporaries, it would have saved the shedding of a 
world of tears. 

Shepherd. Just laugh your fill, Mr. Ambrose. A smile is 
aye becoming that honest face o' yours. But I'll no be sae 
wutty again, gin I can help it. 

[Exit Mr. Ambrose with the epergne. 

Tickler. Mr. Ambrose understands me. It does my heart 
good to know when his arm is carefully extended over my 
shoulder, to put down or to remove. None of that hurry-and- 
no-speed waiter-like hastiness about our Ambrose 1 With an 
ever observant eye he watches the goings-on of the board, like 
an astronomer watching the planetary system. He knows 
when a plate is emptied to be filled no more, and lo ! it is 
withdrawn as by an invisible hand. During some " syncope 
and solemn pause " you may lay down your knife and fork 
and wipe your brow, nor dread the evanishing of a half- 
devoured howtowdy ; the moment your eye has decided on a 
dish, there he stands plate in hand in a twinkling beside 
tongue or turkey ! No playing at cross purposes — the sheep's 
head of Mullion usurping the place of the kidneys of 
O'Doherty. The most perfect confidence reigns round the 
board. The possibility of mistake is felt to be beyond the 
fear of the hungriest imagination ; and sooner shall one of 



" Hear the CrlenUvet I " 33 

Jupiter's satellites forsake his orbit' jostling the stars, and 
wheeling away mto some remoter system, than our Ambrose 
run against any of the subordinates, or leave the room wliile 
North is in his chair. 

North. Hear the Glenlivet ! — Hear the Gleyilivet ! 

Shepherd. No, Mr. North, nane o' your envious attributions 
o' ae spirit for anither. It's the soul within him that breaks 
out, like lightning in the coUied "* niglit, or in the dwawm- 
like t silence o' a glen the sudden soun' o' a trumpet. 

Tickler. Give me vour hand, James. 

Shepherd. There, noo — there, noo ! It's aye me that's said 
to be sae fond o' llattery ; and yet only see how by a single 
word o' my mouth I can add sax inches to your stature, Mr. 
Tickler, and make ye girn like the spirit rhat saluted De 
Gama at the Cape o' Storms. 

North. Hear the Glenlivet ! — Hear the Glenlivet ! 

Shepherd. Hush, ye haveril. X Give up a speech yoursel, 
Mr. North, and then see wiio'li cry, " Hear the Glenlivet I 
— hear the Glenlivet ! " then. But baud your tougues, 
baith o' you — dinna stir a fit. And as for you, Mr. Tickler, 
howk the tow out o' your lug, and hear till a sang. 

{The Shepherd sings "The brakens wi' me.") 

Tickler {passing his hand across his eyes). " I'm never 
merry when I hear sweet music." 

North. Your voice, James, absolutely gets mellower 
through years. Next York Festival you must sing a 
solo — " Ano-els ever briofht and fair," or '"■ Farewell, ve lim- 
pid streams and floods." 

Shepherd. I was at the last York Festival, and one 
day 1 was in the chorus, next to Grundy of Kirk-by-Lons 

* ♦' Like LigUtning i]i tlia c>lUed uiglit." — Mldsiiuini^r yig/ii's Dream 
Co! I led— hhicke'AQil as with coal, 
f Dioaicm-llke — swoon-like, 
t HurL'rU — n chattofT-ii; U'\li!-v,ltto<'. persoii. 



34 The York Musical Festival. 

dale. I kent my mouth was wide open, but I never heard my 
aiti voice in the magnificent roar. 
North. Describe — James — describe. 

Shepherd. As weel describe a glorious dream of the seventh 
heaven. Thousands upon thousands o' the most beautiful 
fiiigels sat mute and still in the Cathedral. Weel may I call 
them angels, although a' the time I knew them to be frail, 
evanescent creatures o' this ever-changing earth. A sort o' 
paleness was on their faces, ay, even on the faces where the 
blush-roses o' innocence were blooming like the flowers o' 
Paradise — for a shadow came ower them froe the awe o' their 
religious hearts that beat not, but were cnamed as in the pres- 
ence of their Great Maker. All eyne were fixed in a sol- 
emn raised gaze, something mournful-like I thocht, but it 
was only in a happiness great and deep as the calm sea. I 
saw — I did not see the old massy pillars — now I seemed to 
behold the roof o' the Cathedral, and now the sky o' heaven, 
and a licht — I had maist said a murmuring licht, for there 
surely was a faint spirit-like soun' in the streams o' splen- 
dor that came through the high Gothic window, left shadows 
here and there throughout the temple, till a' at ance the or- 
gan sounded, and I could have fallen down on my knees. 

North. Thank you, kindly, James. 

Shepherd. I understand the hint, sir. Catch me harpin 
ower lang on ae string. Yet music's a subject I could get 
geyan * tiresome upon. 

North. What think you, James, of the projected Fish 
Company. 

Shepherd. Just everything that's gude. I never look at 
the sea without lamenting the backward state of its agricul- 
tare. Were every eatable land animal extinc', the human 
race could dine and soup out o' the ocean till a' eternity. 

* Of'yon— -ratli-or. 



Tlie Feril of Lu7icheo7u 35 

Tickler. No fish-sauce equal to the following : — Ketchup 
— mustard — cayenne pepper — butter amalgamated on your 
plate propria manu, each man according to his own propor- 
tiotts. Yetholm ketch.up made by the gipsies. Mushroom, 
for ever — damn walnuts. 

North. I care little about what I eat or drink. 

Shepherd. Lord have mercy on us — wdiat a lee ! There 
does not, at this blessed moment, breathe on the earth's 
surface ae human being that doesna prefer eating and drink- 
ing to all ither pleasures o' body and sowl.^ This is the 
rule : Never think about either the ane or the ither but when 
you are at the board. Then, eat and drink wi' a' your pow- 
ers — moral, intellectual, and physical. Say little, but look 
freendly — tak care chiefly o' yoursel', but no, if you can help 
it, to the utter oblivion o' a' ithers. This may soun' queer 
but it's gude manners, and worth a Chesterfield. Them at 
the twa ends o' the table maun just reverse that rule — till 
ilka body has been twice served — and then aff at 'a haun 
gallop. 

North. What think ye of luncheons ? 

Shepherd. That they are the disturbers o' a' earthly hap- 
piness. I daurna trust mysel' wi' a luncheon. In my haun-s 
it becomes an untimeous denner — for after a hantle o' cauld 
meat, muirfowl pies, or even butter and bread, what reason- 
able cretur can be ready afore gioamin for a het denner ? So 
when'er I'm betraj^ed into a luncheon, I mak it a luncheon 
wi' a vengeance ; and then order in the kettle, and finish aii 
wi' a jug or twa, just the same as gin it had been a regular 
dinner wi' a table-cloth. Bewaur the tray. 

North. A few^ anchovies, such as I used to enjoy with my 

*"Some people," says Dr. Samuel Jolinson, "have a foolish way of 
not minding, or pretending not to mind, what they eat. For my part, I mind 
my belly very studiously, and very carefully. For I look upon it, that he who 
does not mind his belly will hardly mind anything else." — Boswell's Life^ 
chap. xvii. 



36 The Mid-day Hour, 

dear Davy at the corner, act as a wliet, I confess, and noth- 
ing more. 

Shepherd. I never can eat a few o' onything, even ingans. 
Ance I begin, I maun proceed ; and I devoor them— ilka ane 
being the last — till my een are sae watery that I think it is 
raining. Break not upon the integrity o' time atween break- 
fast and the blessed hour o' denner. 

North. The mid-day hour is always, to my imagination- 
the most delightful hour of the whole Alphabet. 

Shepherd. I understaun. During that hour — and there is 
nae occasion to allow difference for clocks, for in nature 
every object is a dial — how many thousand groups are col- 
lected a' ower Scotland, and a' ower the face o' the earth — 
for in every clime wondrously the same are the great lead- 
ing laws o' man's necessities — under bits o'bonny buddin or 
leaffu' hedgeraws, some bit fragrant and fluttering birk-tree, 
aneath some owerhanging rock in the desert, or by some 
diamond well in its mossy cave — breakin their bread wi' 
thanks oivin 2:, and eatin with the clear blood o' health mean- 
dering in the heaven-blue veins o' the sweet lassies, while 
the cool airs are playing amang their haflins-covered* bosoms 
wi' many a jeist and sang atween, and aiblins kisses too, at 
ance dew and sunshine to the peasant's or shepherd's soul — 
then up again wi' lauchter to their wark amang the tedded 
grass, or the corn-rigs sae bonny, scenes that Robbie Burns 
lo'ed sae weel and sang sae gloriously — and the whilk, need 
I fear to say't, your ain Ettrick Shepherd, my dear fellows, 
jias sung on his auld border harp, a sang or twa that may 
be remembered when the bard that wauk'd them is i' the 
mools, and " at his feet the green-grass turf and at his head 
a stane." 

Tickler. Come, come, James, none of your pathos — none 

* Hajlins-covered—hsi.U'COXGied. 



IVhat is pleasant Conversation f 37 

of your pathos, my dear James. ( Looking red about the 
eyes.) 

North.- We were talking of codlins."^ 

Shepherd. True, Mr. North, but folk camia be aye talkiu 
o' codlins, ony mair than aye eatin them ; and the great 
charm o' conversation is being aff on ony wind that blaws 
Pleasant conversation between friends is just like walkini^ 
through a mountainous kintra — at every glen-mouth the 
wun' blaws frae a different airtf — the bit bairnies come 
tripping alang in opposite directions — noo a harebell scents 
the air — noo sweet briar — noo heather bank — here is a grue- 
some quagmire, there a plat o' sheep-nibbled grass, smooth 
as silk and green as emeralds — here a stony region of 
cinders and lava, there groves o' the lady-fern embowering 
the sleeping roe — here the hillside in its own various dyes 
resplendent as the rainbow, and there woods that the Druids 
would have worshipped — hark, sound sounding in the awfu' 
sweetness o' evening wi' the cushat's sang, and the deadened 
roar o' som.e great waterfa' far aff in the very centre o' the 
untrodden forest. A' the warks o' ootward natur are sym- 
bolical o' our ain immortal souls. Mr. Tickler, is't not just 
even sae ? 

Tickler. Sheridan — Sheridan; what was Sheridan's talk 
to our own Shepherd's, North ? 

North. A few quirks and cranks studied at a looking-glass $ 
— puns painfully elaborated with pen and ink for extempo- 
raneous reply — bon-mots generated m malice prepense — witti- 
cisms jotted down in short-hand to be extended when he had 
put on the spur of the occasion — the drudgeries of memory 

* Codlins — small cod ; not apples, as tlie American editor supposes. 

t Airt — point of the compass. 

X How carefully Sheridan's impromptus were prepared beforeliand may be 
learned from Moore's Life of that celebrated wit, just published at the date 
uf this number of the Nodes. 



38 The SJiepherd^s Monkey, 

to be palmed off for the ebullitions of imagination — the 
coinage of the counter passed for currency hot from the mint 
of fancy — squibs and crackers ignited and exploded by a 
Merry-Andrew, instead of the lightnings of the soul, darting 
out forked or sheeted from the electrical atmosphere of an 
inspired genius. 

Shepherd. I wish that you but saw my monkey, Mr. North. 
He would make you hop the twig in a guffaw. I hae got a 
pole erected for him o' about some 150 feet high, on a knowe 
ahint Mount Benger ; and the way the cretur rins up to the 
knob, lookin ower the shouther o' him, and twisting his tail 
roun' the pole for fear o' playin thud on the grun', is comical 
past a' endurance. 

North. Think you, James, that he is a link ? 

Shepherd. A link in creation ? Not he, indeed. He is 
merely a monkey. Only to see him on his observatory, 
beholding the sunrise ! or weeping, like a Laker, at the 
beauty o' the moon and stars ! 

North. Is he a bit of a poet ? 

Shepherd. Gin he could but speak and write, there can be 
nae manner o' doubt that he would be a gran' poet. Safe us ! 
what een in the head o' him ! Wee, clear, red, fiery, watery, 
malignant-lookin een, fu' o' inspiration. 

Tickler. You should have him stuffed. 

Shepherd. Stuffed, man ? say, rather, embalmed. But he's 
no likely to dee for years to come — indeed, the cretur's 
engaged to be married, although he's no in the secret himsel', 
yet. The bawns"^ are published. 

Tickler. Why, really, James ; marriage, I think, ought to 
be simply a civil contract. 

Shepherd. A civil contract ! I wuss it was. But oh ! Mr. 
Tickler, to see the cretur sittin wi' a pen in's hand, and pipe 

♦ Bawns — ^baiins. 



His Accomplishments. 39 

in*s mouth, jotting down a sonnet, or odd, or lyrical ballad ! 
Sometimes I put that black velvet cap ye gied me on his 
head, and ane o' the bairn's auld big-coats on his back ; and 
then sure eneugh, when he takes his stroll in the avenue, he 
is a heathenish Christian. 

North. Why James, by this time he must be quite like one 
off the family ? 

Shepherd. He's a capital flee fisher. I never saw a monkey 
throw alighter line in my life. But he's greedy o' the gude 
linns, and canna thole to see onybody else gruppin great anes 
but himsel'. He accompanied me for twa-three days in the 
season to the Trows, up aboon Kelso yonner ; and Kersse^ 
allowed that he worked a salmon to a miracle. Then, for 
rowing a boat ! 

Tickler. Why don't you bring him to Ambrose's ? 
Shepherd, He's sae bashfu'. He never shines in company ; 
and the least thing in the world will mak him blush. 

Tickler. Have you seen the Sheffield Iris, containing an 
account of the feast given to Montgomeryf the poet, his long- 
winded speech, and his valedictory address to the world as 
abdicating editor of a provincial newspaper ? 

Shepherd. I have the Iris — that means Rainbow — in my 
pocket, and it made me proud to see sic honors conferred on 
genius. Lang-wunded speech, Mr. Tickler ! What ! would 
you have had Montgomery mumble twa-three sentences, and 
sit down again, before an assemblage o' a hundred o' the most 
resoectable o' his fellow-townsmen, with Lord Milton at their 
head, a' gathered thegither to honor with heart and hand 
One of the Sons of Sonsj ? 

North. Right, James, right. On such an occasion, Mont- 



* Kersse, a celebrated Kelso salmon-fislier. 

t James Montgomery, author of The World before the Flood, and other 
esteemed poems, was born in 1771, and died in 1854. 



40 The Night of Trafalgar, 

gomery was not only entitled, but bound to sjDeak of himself 
— and by so doing he " has graced his cause." Meanwhile 
let us drink his health in a bumper. 

SJtepherd. Stop, stop, my jug's done. But never mind, I'll 
drink't in pure speerit. {Bihunt omnes.') 
TicJder. Did we include his politics ? 

Shepherd. Faith, I believe no. Let's tak anither bumper 
to his politics. 

North. .James, do you know what you're saying? — the man 
is a Whig. If we do drink his politics, let it be in empty 
glasses. 

Shepherd. Na, na. I'll drink no man's health, nor yet ony 
ither thing, out o' an empty glass. My political principles 
are so well known, that my consistency would not suffer were 
I to drink the health o' the great Whig leader, Satan himself ; 
besides, James Montgomery is, I verily believe, a true patriot. 
Gin he thinks himself a Whig, he has nae understanding 
whatever o' his ain character. I'll undertak to bring out the 
Toryism that's in him in the course o' a single Noctes. Tory- 
ism is an innate principle o' human nature — Whiggism but 
an evil habit. sirs, this is a gran' jug ! 

Tickler. I am beginning to feel rather hungry. 

Shepherd. I hae been rather sharp-set even sin' Mr. Ambrose 
took awa the cheese. 

North. 'Tis the night of the 21st of October — the battle 
of Trafalsjar — 'Nelson's death — the greatest of all Eno^laud's 
heroes — 

** His march was o'ev tlie mountaiu wave, 
His liome was on the deep." 

Nelson not only destroyed the naval power of all the enemies 
of England, but he made our naval power immortal. Thank 
God, he died at sea. 

Tickler. A noble creature ; his very failings were ocean- 
born. 



The Spirit of the Iliad. 41 

Shepherd. Yes — a cairii to liis memory would not be out 
of place even at the liead of the most inland glen. Not a 
sea-mew floats up into our green solitudes that tells not of 
Nelson. 

North. His name makes me proud that I am an islander. 
No continent has such a glory. 

Shepherd. Look out o' the window — what a fleet o'stars 
in Heaven ! Yon is the Victory — a hundred-gun ship — I 
see the standard of England flying at the main. The bricht- 
est luminary o' nicht says in that halo, " England expects 
every man to do his duty." . . . What think you of the Iliad, 
Mr. North? 

North. The great occupation of the power of man, James, 
in early society, is to make war. Of course, his great poet- 
ry will be that which celebrates war. The mighty races of 
men, and their mightiest deeds, are represented in such poet- 
ry. It contains " the glory of the world " in some of its 
noblest ages. Such is Homer. The wholei poem of Homer 
(the Iliad) is war, yet not much of the whole Iliad is fight- 
ing and that, with some exceptions, not the most interesting. 
If we consider warlike poetry purely as breathing the spirit 
of fighting, the fierce ardor of combat, we fall to a much 
lower measure of human conception. Homer's poem is in- 
tellectual, and full of affections ; it would go as near to make 
a philosopher as a soldier. I should say that war appears 
as the business of Homer's heroes, not often a matter of pure 
enjoyment. One would conceive, that if there could be 
found anywhere in language the real breathing spirit of lust 
foi llglit which is in some nations, there would be concep- 
tions, and passion of blood-thirst, which are not in Homer. 
There are flashes of it in ^schylus. 

Shepherd. I wish to heaven I could read Greek. I'll 
begin to-morrow. 



42 The Glory of War. 

Ticlchr. The songs of Tjrtaeus goading into battle are of 
that kind, and their class is evidently not a high one. Far 
above them must have been those poems of the ancient 
German nations, which were chanted in the front of battle, 
recitino- the acts of old heroes to exalt their courasfe. These, 
being breathed out of the heart of passion of a people, must 
have been good. The spirit of fighting was there involved 
with all their most ennobling concejDtions, and yet was mere- 
ly pugnacious. 

North. The Iliad is remarkable among military poems in 
this, that, being all about war, it instils no passion for war. 
None of the high inspiring motives to war are made to 
kindle the heart. In fact, the cause of war is false on both 
sides. But there is a glory of war, like the sjjlendor of sun- 
shine, resting upon and enveloping all. 

Shepherd. I'm beginning to get a little clearer in the up- 
per storey. That last jug was a poser. How feel j'^ou 
gentlemen — do you think you're baith quite sober ? Our 
conversation is rather beginning to get a little heavy. Tak 
a mouthfu'. (North quaffs.) 

TicUer. North, you look as if you were taking an observa- 
tion. Have you discovered any new comet ? 

North {standing up). Friends — countrymen — and Romans 
— 'lend me your ears. You say, James, that that's a gran' 
jug ; well then, out with the ladle, and push about the jorum. 
No speech — no speech — for my heart is big. This may be 
our last meeting in the Blue Parlor. Our next meeting 
in 

AMBROSE'S HOTEL, PICARDY PLACE 1 * 



* At this time Ambrose was about tosliift bis sign from Gabriel's Road, at 
the baclc of Princes Street, to a large tenement in Picardy Place, facing 
tlie liead of Leitlv Walk. It will be seen, in the next Xoctes, that the party 
again met in the old, " Blue Parlor" in Gabriel's Road. 



Farewell to the Blue Parlor, 43 

{'^ov^.TH suddenly sits down; Tickler and the Shepherd 
in a moment are at his side.") 

Ticher. My beloved Christopher, here is my smelling-bottle 
{Puts the vinaigrette to his aquiline nose.) 

Shepherd. My beloved Christopher, here is my smelling- 
bottle. (Pnts the stately oblong Glenlivet crystal to his lips.) 

North {opening his eyes). What jiowers are those? Roses- 
mignonette, bathed in aromatic dew ! 

Shepherd. Yes ; in romantic dew — mountain dew, my re- 
spected sir, that could give scent to a sybo.* 

Tickler. James, let us support him into the open air._ 

North. Somewhat too much of this. It is beautiful moon 
light. Let us take an arm-in-arm stroll round the ramparts 
of the Calton Hill. 

( winter ^Ir. A:mbrose, much affected, with North's 
dreadnought ; North tohispers ^V^ his ear, Subridens 
oUi ; Mr. Ambrose looks cheerful, et exeunt omnes. 

* Syho—Sk leek. 



IV. 

IN WHICH THE SHEPHERD USURPS THE EDITORIAL 

CHAIR. 

Blue Parlor. — Shepherd and Tickler. 

Shepherd. I had nae heart for't, Mr. Tickler, I had nae 
heart for't. Yon's a grand hotel in Picardy — and there can 
be nae manner o' doubt that Mr. Ambrose '11 succeed in it. 
Yon bis letters facinsf doun Leith Walk will be sure to catch 
the een o' a' the passengers by London smacks and steam- 
boats, to say naething o' the mair stationary land population. 
Besides, the character o' the man himself, sae douce, civil, 
and judicious. But skill part from my riglit hand when I 
forget Gabriel's Road. Draw in your chair, sir. 

Tickler. I wish the world, James, would stand still for 
some dozen years — till I am at rest. It seems as if the very 
earth itself were underofoincf a vital chan2;e. Nothinsf is 
unalterable except the heaven above my head — and even it, 
James, is hardly, methinks at times, the same as in former 
days or nights. There is not much difference in the clouds, 
James, but the blue sky, I must confess, is not quite so very, 
very blue as it was sixty years since ; and the sun, although 
still a glorious luminary, has lost a leetle — iust a leetle — 
of his lustre. But it is the streets, squares, couns, closes. 



The Shepherd is coyijidential. 45 

— ^lands, houses, shops, that are all changed — ^gone — swept 
off — razed — buried. 

" And that is sure a reason fair, 
To fill my glass again." 

Shepherd. Ony reason's fair enough for that. Here's to 
you, sir — the Hollands in this house is aye maist excellent. 
... Is the oysters verra gude this season ? I shanna stir 
frae this chair till I hae devoored five score o' them. That's 
just my allowance on coming in frae the kintra. 

Tickler. James, that is a most superb cloak. Is the clasp 
pure gold ? You are like an officer of hussars — ^like one of 
the Prince's Own. Spurs too, I protest ! 

Shepherd. Sit closer, Mr. Tickler, sit closer, man ; light 
your cigar, and puff away like a steam-engine — though ye 
ken I just detest smokin ; — ^for I hae a secret to communi- 
cate — a secret o' some pith and moment, Mr. Tickler ; and I 
want to see your face in a' the strength o' its maist natural 
exi^ression when I am lettin you intil't. Fill your glass, sir. 

Tickler. Don't tell it to me, James — don't tell it to me ; 
for the greatest enjoyment I have in this life is to let out a 
secret — especially if it has been confided to me as a matter 
of life and death. 

Shepherd. I'll rin a' hazards. I maun out wi't to you ; for 
1 hae aye had the most profoun' respect for your abeelities, 
and I hae a pleasure in giein you the start o' the world for 
fOur-and- twenty hours. — I amnoo the Yeditor o' Blackwood's 
Magazine. 

Tickler. Angels and ministers of grace defend us ! 

Shepherd. Why, you see, sir, they couldna do without me. 
North's getting verra auld — and, between you and me, rather 
doited — crabbed to the contributors, and — come hither wi' 
your lug — no verra ceevil to Ebony himsel ; so out comes 
letter upon letter to me, in Yarrow yonder, fu' o' the maist 



46 The Shepherd in the Chair. 

magnificent offers — indeed, telling me to fix my ain terms , 
and, faith, just to get rid o' the endless fash o' letters by the 
carrier, I druve into toun here, in the Whusky, through 
Peebles, on the Saturday o' the hard frost, and that same 
night was installed into the Yeditorship in the Sanctum 
Sanctorum. 

Tickler. Well, James, all that Russian affair * is a joke to 
this. Nicholas, Constantine, and the old Mother-Empress 
may go to the devil and shake themselves, now that you, my 
dear, dear Shepherd, are raised to the Scottish throne. 

Shepherd. Wha wad hae thocht it, Mr. Tickler — wha wad 
hae thocht it — that day when I first entered the Grassmarket 
wi' a' my flock afore me, and Hector youf-youfin round the 
Gallow-Stane — where, in days of yore, the saints — 

Tickler. Sire ! 

Shepherd. Nane o' your mocking — I'm the Editor ; and, to 
prove't, I'll order in — the Balaam-box. 

Tickler. James, as you love me, open not that box. — Pan- 
dora's was a joke to it. 

Shepherd. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Mr. Tickler, you're feared that I'll 
lay my haun on yane o' your articles. O man, but you're a 
vain auld chiel ; just a bigot to your ain abeelities. But 
hear me, sir; you maun compose in a mair classical style 
gin you think o' continuing a contributor. I must not let 
down the character of the work to flatter a few feckless 
fumblers. Mr. Ambrose — Mr. Ambrose — the Balaam-box I 
tell you — I hae been ringing this half-hour for the Balaam- 
box. 

3fr. Ambrose. Here is the safe, sir. I observe the spider is 
still in the key-hole ; but as Mr. North, God bless him, told 

* The " Russian affair " was the declinature by Constantine of the Russian 
sceptre, in favor of his younger brother Nicholas, who died on the 2nd of 
March, 1855. 



TicJder is appointed Sub-Editor. 47 

me not to disturb him, I have given him a few flies daily that 
I found in an old bottle ; perhaps he will get out of the way 
when he feels the key. 

Tickler. James, that spider awakens in my mind the most 
agreeable recollections. 

Shepherd. Dang your speeders. But, Mr. Ambrose, where'a 
che Monthly Budget? 

Mr. Ambrose. Here, sir. 

Shepherd (emptying the green bag on the table). Here, Mr. 
Tickler. Here's a sight for sair een — materials for a dizzen 
numbers. Arrange them by tens — that's right ; what a 
show ! I'm rich aneuch to pay aff the national debt. Let 
us see — " Absenteeism." The speeder maun be disturbed — 
into the Balaam-box must this article go. Gude preserve us, 
what a v/eight I I wonder what my gude auld father wad 
hae said, had he lived to see the day when it became a great 
public question whether it was better or waur for a country 
that she should hae nae inhabitants ! . . . What's that your 
glowering on, Sub ? 

Tickler. Sub ? 

Shepherd. Ay, Sub. I create you Sub-yeditor of the 
Magazine. You maun correc' a' the Hebrew, and Chinese, 
and German, and Dutch, Greek and Latin^ and French and 
Spanish, and Itawlian. You maun likewise help me wi' the 
pints, and in kittle words look after the spellin. I^oo and 
then ye may overhaul, and cut down, and transmogrify an 
article that's ower lang, or ower stupid in pairts, putting 
some smeddum * in't, and soomin a' up wi' a soundin pero- 
ration. North had nae equal at that ; and I hae kent him 
turn out o' his hands a short, pithy, biting article, frae a long 
lank, lumbering rigmarole, taken, at a pinch, out the verra 
Balaam-box. The author wondered at his ain genius and 

* Smeddum — spirit. 



48 Tlie Monthly Budget 

erudition when he read it, and wad gang for a week after up 
and down the town, asking everybody he met if they had 
read his leading-article in Ebony. The sumph thocht he had 
written it himsel ! I can never hope to equal Mr. North in 
that faculty, which in him is a gift o' nature; but in a 
things else I am his equal, — and in some, dinna ye think sae 
his superior ? 

Tickler, I do. There seems to me something pretty in this 
little son2^. To do it justice, I must sing it. iSings.) 

" oil ! often on the mountain's side 

I've snng with all a slieplierd's pride, 

And Yarrow, as lie roll'd along, 

Bore down the hurden of the song. 

A shepherd's life's the life for me 
He tends his flock so merrily, — « 
He sings his song, and tells his tale, * 
And is beloved through all the vale." 

Shepherd. Tut, tut ! — it's wersh f — wersh as a potauto with- 
out saut. The writer o' that sang never wore a plaid. What 
for will clever chaps, wi' a classical education, aye be writin 
awa at sangs about us shepherds ? Havers ! t Let Burns, and 
me, and Allan Cunningham talk o' kintra matters under our 
ain charge. We'll put mair real life and love into ae line — 
aiblins into a word — than a' the classical callants that ever 
were at college. 

Tickler. Well, well — here's a poem that may as well go into 
the fire-heap at once, without further inspection. 

Shepherd. For God's sake, baud your hand, Mr. Tickler ! — • 
dinna burn that, as you hou|) to be saved ! It's my ain haun- 
writin — I ken't at a' this distance — I'll swear till't in a court 
o' justice! Burn that, and you're my Sub nae lauger. 

* Tells his tale. Milton in l' Allegro, uses this expression as a synonym 
for "counts his flock;" here, by a singular misapprehension, the words 
Boem to be used literally iu the sense of " tells his stori/ ! " 

t Wersh— iusiiAd. % Havers— ]sa-gon.. 



The Shepherd objects to " Jainesy 49 

Tickler. My dear Editor, I will sing it. 

Shepherd. Na, you slianna sing't — I'll sing't mysel, thougli 
I'm as hoarse as a oraw. Breathin that easterly harr is as 
bad as snooking down into your hawse sae many yards o' 
woollen. Howsomever, I'll try. And mind, nane o' your 
accompaniments wi' me, either o' fiddle or vice. A second's 
a thing that I just perfectly abhor, — it seems to me — though 
I hae as gude an ear as Miss Stephens* hersel — and better, 
too — to be twa different tunes sang at ae time — a maist 
intolerable practice. Mercy me 1 It's the twa Epithaliums 
that I wrote for the young Duke o' Buccleuch's birthday, 
held at Selkirk the 25th of November, 1825. f {sings.) 

Rejoice, ye wan and wil(i^r'd, glens, 
Ye dowie dells o' Yarrow. 

TicJcler. Beautiful, James, quite beautiful ! 

Shepherd. Mr. Tickler, I think, considering all things, — 
the situation I now occupy, my rank in society, and the 
respect which I have at all times been proud to show you and 
Mrs. Tickler, that you might call me Mr. Hogg, or Mr. 
Yeditor. Why always James — simple James ? 

. Tickler. A familiar phrase, full of affection. I insist on 
being called Timothy. 

Shepherd. Weel, weel, be it so now and then. But as a 
general rule, let it be Mr. Tickler — Mr. Hogg, or, which I 
would prefer, Mr. Editor. Depend upon it, sir, that there is 
great advantage to social intercourse in the preservation of 
those mere conversational forms by which " table talk" is 
protected from degenerating into a coarse or careless familiar- 
ity. 

Tickler. Suppose you occasionally call me " Southside," 
and that I call you " Mount Benger " — 

* Afterwards the Countess of Essex. 

t Hogg's munificent landlord, tlie present Duke of Buccleucli, born in 
1806. 



60 The Health of Biiccleuch ! 

Shepherd. A true Scottish fashion that of calling gentlemen 
by the names of their estates. Did you ever see the young 
Duke ? You nod, Never ! — He's a real scion of the old tree. 
What power that laddie has ower human happiness ! — lie has 
a kingdom, and never had a king more loyal subjects. All 
his thousands o' farmers are proud o' him and his executors 
and that verra pride gies them a higher character. The cl;uj 
must not disgrace the Chief. The " Duke" is a household 
word all over that Border — the bairns hear it every day — • 
and it links us thesfither in a sort o' brotherhood. Curse the 
Kadicals, who would be for destroying the old aristocracy 
of the land ! [Sings the second Eplthalium, — Wat o' Buc- 
CLEUCH.) There's a s5,ng for you, Timothy. My blude's 
up. I bless Heaven I am a Borderer. Here's the Duke's 
health — here's the King's health — here's North's health — 
here's your health — here's my ain health — here's Ebony's 
health — here's Ambrose's health — the healths o' a' the con- 
tributors and a' the subscribers. That was a wully-waught ! * 
I haena left a dribble in the jug. I wuss it mayna flee to 
my head — it's a half-mutchkin jug. 

Tickler. Your eyes, James, are shining with more than 
their usual brilliancy. But here it goes. [Driiihs his jug.) 

Shepherd. After all, what blessing is in this world like a 
rational, well founded, stedfast friendship between twa people 
that hae seen some little o' human life — felt some little o' its 
troubles — kept fast hauld O' gude character, and are doing a' 
they can for the benefit o' their fellow-creatures ? The Maga- 
zine, Mr. Tickler, is a mighty engine, and it behoves me to 
think well what I am about when I set it a-working. 

Tickler. Try the anchovies. I forget if you skate, Hogg ? 

Shepherd. Yes, like a flounder. I was at Duddingston Loch 
on the great day. Twa bands of music kept cheering the 

• Wullywaught—l&Tge drauglit. 



TJie Loch in Winter, 51 

shade of King Arthur on his seat, and gave a martial 
character to the festivities. It was then, for the first time, 
that I mounted my cloak and spurs. I had a young leddie, 
you may weel guess that, on ilka arm ; and it was pleasant to 
feel the dear, timorous creturs clinging and pressing on a 
body's sides every time their taes caught a bit crunkle on the 
ice, or an imbedded chucky-stane. I thocht that between the 
twa they wad never hae gien ower till they had pu'd me 
doun on the breid o' my back. The muffs were just amazing, 
and the furbelows past a' enumeration. It was quite Polar. 
Then a' the ten thousand people (there couldna be fewer) were 
in perpetual motion. Faith, the thermometer made them do 
that, for it was some fifty below zero. I've been at mony a 
bonspeil, but I never saw such a congregation on the ice 
afore. Once or twice it cracked, and the sound was fear- 
some, — a lang, sullen growl, as of some monster starting out 
o' sleep, and raging for prey. But the bits o' bairns just 
leuch, and never gied ower sliding ; and the leddies, at least 
my twa, just gied a kind o' sab, and drew in their breath, as 
if they had been gaun in naked to the dookin on a cauld day ; 
and the mirth and merriment were rifer than ever. Faith, I 
did make a dinner at the Club-house. 

Tickler. Did you skate, James ? 

Shepherd. That I did, Timothy — but ken you hoo ? You 
will have seen how a' the newspapers roosed the skatin o' an 
offisher, that they said lived in the Castle. Fools ! — it was 
me — naebody but me. Ane o' my twa leddies had a wig in 
her muff, geyan sair curled on the frontlet, and I pat it on the 
hair o' my head. I then drew in my mouth, puckered my 
cheeks, made my een look fierce, hung my head on my left 
shouther, put my hat to the one side, and so, arms akimbo, 
off I went in a figure of 8, garring the crowd part like clouds, 
and circumnavigating the frozen ocean in the space of nboiit 



52 The Shepherd Skates. 

two minutes. " The curlers quat their roaring play," and 
every tent cast forth its inmates, with a bap in the ae haun 
and a gill in the ither, to behold the offisher frae the Castle. 
The only fear I had was o' my long spurs; but they never 
got fankled ; and I finished with doing the 4:7th Proposition 
of Euclid with mathematical precision. 

Tickler. My dear Editor, you are forgetting the articles. 
The devil will be here for copy. ... 

Shepherd. Mr Tickler, here's a most capital article, entitled 
" Birds." * I ken his pen the instant I see the scart o't. 
Naebody can touch aff these light, airy, buoyant, heartsome 
articles like him. Then there's aye sic a fine dash o' nature 
in them — sic nice touches o' description — and, every now and 
then, a bit curious and peculiar word — just ae word and nae 
mair, that lets you into the spirit of the whole design, and 
makes you love both the writer and written. — Square down 
the edges with the paper-foldor, and label it " Leading 
Article." 

Tickler. I wish he was here. 

Shepherd. He's better where he is, for he's a triflin creatur 
when he gets a bit drink ; and then the tongue o' him never 
lies. — Birds — Birds ! — I see he treats only o' singing birds ; 
— he maun gie us afterhend Birds o' Prey. That's a grand 
subject for him. Save us ! what he would mak o' the King 
o' the Vultures ! Of course he would breed him on Imaus. 
His flight is far, and he fears not famine. He has a hideous 
head of his own — fiend-like eyes — nostrils that woo the murky 
air — and beak fit to dig into brain and heart. Don't forget 
Prometheus and his liver. Then dream of being sick in a 
desert place, and of seeing the Vulture-King alight within 
ten yards' of you — folding up his wings very comi^osedly — 

* Tliis article, wntten bj- Profeiisor Wilsou, appeared in Blackwood's 
Magazine, vol. xix. p. lo."). 



The Shepherd's Dismay. 53 

and then coming with his horrid bald scalp close to your ear, 
and beginning to pick rather gently at your face, as if afraid 
to find you alive. You groan — and he hobbles away with 
an angry shriek, to watch you die. You see him whetting 
his beak upon a stone, and gaping wide with hunger and 
tliirst. Horror pierces both yonr eyelashes before the bird 
begins to scoop ; and you have already all the talons of both 
his iron feet in your throat. Your heart's blood freezes ; but 
notwithstanding that, by and by he will suck it uj) ; and after 
he has gorged himself till he cannot fly, but falls asleep after 
dinner, a prodigious flock of inferior fierce fowl come flying 
from every part of heaven, and gobble up the fragments. 

Tickler. A poem — a poem — a poem ! — quite a poem ! 

Shepherd. My certes, Mr. Tickler, here's a copy of verses 
that Ambrose has dropped that are quite pat to the subject. 
Hearken — here's the way John Kemble used to read. Stop 
— I'll stand up, and use his action too, and mak my face as 
like his as I can contrive. There's difference o' features, but 
very muckle o' the same expression. {Recites.^ 

" Oh to be free, like the eagle of heaven." 

TicUer. I used sometimes to think that North gave us too 
little poetry in the Magazine. Here's a little attempt of my 
own, Mr. Editor — if I thought it could pass muster. 

Shepherd. Ou ay. But what noise is that ? Do you hear 
o;iy noise in the lobby, Mr. Tickler? Dot, Dot, Dot! 
Dinna you hear't ? It's awfu' ! This way. O Lord ! it's 
Mr. North, it's Mr. North, and I am a dead man. I am 
gaun to be deteckit in personating the Yeditor. I'll be hang- 
ed for forgery. Wae's me — wae's me ! Could I get into 
that press ? or into ane o' the garde-du -vins o' the sideboard ? 
Or maun I loup at ance ower the window, and be dashed to 
a thousand pieces ? 



64 The Editor arrives. 

Tickler. Compose yourself, James — compose yourself. 
But what bam is this you have been playing off upon me ? 
I thought North had resigned, and that you were, hondjide, 
editor. And I too ! Am not I your Sub ? What is this, 
Mount Benger ? * 

Shepherd. A sudden thocht strikes me. I'll put on the 
wig, and be the offisher frae the Castle. Paint my ee-hrees 
wi' burned cork — fast, man, fast — the gouty auld deevil's at 
the door. 

Tickler. That will do — on with your cloak. It may be 
said of you, as of the Palmer in Marmion — 

" Ah me ! the mother that you bare, 
If she had been in presence there, 
In cork'd eyebrows and wig so fair, 
She had not known her child." 

{Enter North). 

North. Mr. Tickler ! Beg pardon, sir, — a stranger. 

Tickler. Allow me to introduce to you Major Moggridge, 
of the Prince's Own. 

JVor'th. How do you do, Major? — I am happy to see you. 
I have the honor of ranking some of my best friends among 
the military — and who has not heard of the character of 
your regiment ? 

The Major {very short-sighted), Na — how do you do, Mr. 
North ? 'Pon honor, fresh as a two-year-old. Is it, indeed, 
the redoubtable Kit that I see before me ? You must be- 
come a member of the United Service Club. We can't do 
without you. You served, I think, in the American War. 
Did you know Fayette, or Washington, or Lee, or Arnold ? 
What sort of a looking fellow was Washington ? 

North. Why, Major, Washington was much such a good- 

* Hogg's territorial title, from the name of his farm. 



Tlie Shepherd asserts himself. 55 

looking fellow as yourself, making allowance for difference 
in dress — for-he was a plain man in his apparel. But he had 
the same heroic expression of countenance — the same com- 
manding eye and bold broad forehead. 

The Major. He didna mak as muckle use, surely, o' the 
Scottish deealec as me ? 

North. What is the meaning of this ? I have heard that 
voice before — where am I ? Excuse me, sir, but — but — why, 
Tickler has Hogg a cousin, or a nephew, or a son in the 
Hussars ? Major Moggridge, you have a strong resemblance 
to one of our most celebrated men, the Ettrick Shepherd. 
Are you in any way connected with the Hoggs ? 

Shepherd {throwing off his disguise). O ye Gawpus ! Ye 
great Gawjous ! It's me, man — it's me ! Tuts, man, dinna 
lose your temper. Dinna you think I would mak a capital 
play-actor ? 

North. Why, James, men at my time of life are averse to 
such wao-o^eries. 

Shepherd. Averse to waggeries! You averse to wag- 
geries ? Then let us a' begin saying our prayers, for the 
end o' the world is at hand. Now that's just the way baith 
wi' you and Mr. Tickler. As lang as you get a' your ain 
way, and think you hae the laugh against the Shepherd, a's 
richt — and you keckle, and you craw, and you fling the straw 
frae ahint the heel o' you, just like garme-cocks when about 
to gi'e battle. Vow, but you're crouse ; ^ but sae sune as \ 
turn the tables on you, g^gg you, as they would say in 
Glasgow — turn you into twa asses, and make you wonder if 
your lugs are touching the ceiling — but immediately you be- 
gin whimpering about your age and infirmities — immediately 
you baith draw up your mouths as if you had been eatin 
8ourocks, let down your jaws like so many undertakers, and 

* Crouse — brisk arrl pri-nfirlcnt. 



56 A General Amnesty proclaimed. 

propose being philosophical ! Isna that the truth, the whole 
truth, and nothing but the truth ? 

North. I fear, James, you're not perfectly sober. 

Shepherd. If I am fou, sir, it's nae been at your expense. 
But, howsomever, here I am ready to dispute wi' you on ony 
subject, sacred or profane. I'll cowp * you baith, ane after 
the ither. What sail it be ? History, Philosophy, Theolo- 
gy, Poetry, Political Economy, Oratory, Criticism, Jurispru- 
dence, Agriculture, Commerce, Manufactures, Establishments 
in Church and State, Cookery, Chemistry, Mathematics — or 
My Magazine ? 

J^orth. Your Magazine ? 

Shepherd ( bursting into a guffaw). O Mr. North ! O 
Mr. North ! what a f ule I hae made o' Tickler. I made 
him believe that I was the Yeditor o' Blackwood^ s Magazine ! 
The coof credited it ; and gin you only heard hoo he abused 
you ! He ca'd you the Archbishop of Toledo. 

Tickler. You lie, Hogg ! 

Shepherd. There's manners for you, Mr. North. Puir, pas- 
sionate cretur, I j)ity him, when I think o' the apology he 
maun mak to me in a' the newspapers. 

North. No, no, my good Shepherd — ^be pacified, if he goes 
down here on his knees. 

Shepherd. Stop a wee while, till I consider. Na, na ; he 

maunna gang doun on his knees — I couldna thole to see that. 

Then, I was wrang in saying he abused you. So let us baith 

say we were wrang, preceesely at the same moment. Gi'e 

the signal, Mr. North. 

Tickler. ) t i ^ 

err 7 7 hi ask pardon. 
i^hepherd. ) ^ 

North. Let us embrace. ( Tria juncta m uno.) 

Shepherd. Hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! — Noo for t;he Powl- 

dowdies.f 

* Co70p — overthrow. t Powldowdies—ojstQrs, 



V. 

IN WHICH THE SHEPHERD RO UTS MULLION 
Blue Parlor. — North, Shephekd, Tickler, Mullion. 

Shepherd. You may keep wagging that tongue o' yours, 
Mr. Tickler, till midsummer, but I'll no stir a foot frae my 
position, that the London University, if weel schemed and 
weel conduckit, will be a blessing to the nation. It's no for 
me, nor the like o' me, to utter ae single syllable against 
edication. Take the good and the bad thegether, but let a* 
ranks hae edication. 

Tickler. All ranks cannot have education. 

Mullion. I agree with Mr. Tickler, — 

" A little learning is a dangeroxis thing. 
Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring." 

Shepherd. Oh, man, Mullion ! but you're a great gowk ! 
"What the mair dangerous are ye wi' your little learning ? 
There's no a mair harmless creature than yoursel, man, 
amang a' the contributors. The Pierian spring ? What ken 
ye about the Pierian spring ? Ye never douked your lugs * 
intil't I'm sure. Yet, gin it were onything like a jug o' 
whisky, faith, ye wad hae drank deep aneuch — and then, 
dangerous or no dangerous, ye might hae been lugged awa 
to the Poleesh-ofiice, wi' a watchman aneath ilka oxter, 
kickin and spurrin a' the way, like a pig in a string. Haud 

* Dou]:ecl your lugs — plunged your ears. 

57 



58 Is " a little Learning" dangerous f 

your tongue, Mullion, about drinkin deep, and the Pierian 
spring. 

North. James, you are very fierce this evening. Mullion 
scarcely deserved such treatment. 

Shepherd. Fairce ? I'm nae mair fairce than the lave o' 
so. A' contributors are in a manner fairce — but I canna 
cliole to hear nonsense the nicht. Ye may just as weel tell 
me that a little siller's a dangerous thing. Sae, doubtless, it 
is, in a puir, hard-working chiel's pouch, in a change-house 
on a Saturday nicht — but no sae dangerous either as mair 
o't. A guinea's mair dangerous than a shilling, gin you 
reason in that gate. It's just perfec sophistry a'thegether. 
In like manner, you micht say a little licht's a dangerous 
thing, and therefore shut up the only bit wunnock* in a 
poor man's house, because the room was ower sma' for a 
Venetian ! Havers ! havers ! God's blessings are aye God's 
blessings, though they come in sma's and driblets. That's 
my creed, Mr. North — and it's Mr. Canning's too, I'm glad 
to see, and that o' a' the lave o' the enlichtened men in civil- 
ized Europe. 

Mullion. Why, as to Mr. Canning — I cannot say that to 
his opinion on that subject I attach much — 

Shepherd. Hand your tongue, ye triflin cretur — ye maun 
hae been drinkin at some o' your caird-clubs afore you cam 
to Awmrose's the nicht. You're unpleasant aneuch when ye 
4eep, and snore, and draw your breath through a wat crinkly 
-.^ugh, wi' the head o' ye nid noddin, first ower your back 
and syne ower your breast, then on the tae shouther and then 
on the tither ; — but onything's mair preferable than j 3rk, 
yerkin at everything said by a wiser man than yoursel — by 
me^ or Mr. Canning, or Mr. North, when he chooses to 
illuminate. 

♦ Wumiock — window. 



The Shepherd is interrupted. 59 

Mullion. What will Mr. Canning say now about Parlia- 
mentary Reform, after that oration of his about Turgot and 
Galileo ? 

Shepherd. Turkey and Galilee ! What care I about such 
outlandish realms ? Keep to. the point at issue, sir, — the ed- 
ication o' the people ; and if Mr. Canning does not vote wi' 
me for the edication o' the people, confoun' me gin he'll be 
Sficretary o' State for the Hame Department anither session 
o' Parliament. 

Mullion. The Foreign Department, if you please, Mr. Hogg. 

Shepherd. Oh, man, that's just like you, — takin hand o' 
a word, as if ony rational man would draw a conclusion frae a 
misnomer o' a word. There's nae distinction atween Foreign 
and Hame Departments. Gin Mr. Canning didna ken the 
state o' our ain kintra, how the deevil, man, could he conduck 
the haill range o' international policy ? 

Tickler. I confess, Mr. Hogg, that — 

Shepherd. Nane o' your confessions, Mr. Tickler, to me. 
I'm no a Roman priest. Howsomever — beg pardon for in- 
terrupting you. What's your wull ? 

Tickler. I confess that I like to see each order in the 
State keeping in its own place — ^following its own pursuits — 
practising its own virtues. 

Shepherd. Noo, noo, Mr. Tickler, ye ken the unfeigned 
respec I hae for a' your opinions and doctrines. But ye 
(iiaunna come down upon the Shepherd wi' your generaleezin. 
As for orders in the State, how mony thousan' o' them are 
there — and wha can tell what is best, to a tittle, for ilka ana 
o' them a' in a free kintra ? I've read in beuks that there 
are but three orders in the State — ^the higher, the middle, and 
the lower orders. Siccan nonsense ! 

Mullion. The best authorities — 

Shepherd. I'll no spealc anither word the nicht, if that 



60 Ihe Shepherd Resumes, 

creter Mullion keeps interruptin folk wi' that nyaffing* voice 
o' him in that gate. I say there are at least three thousand 
orders in the State — ^j-)lolighmeu, shepherds, ministers, squires, 
lords, ladies, auld women, virgins, weavers, smiths, professors, 
tailors, sodgers, howdies, bankers, pedlars, tinklers, poets, 
editors, contributors, manufacturers, annuitants, grocers, 
drapers, booksellers, innkeepers, advocates, writers to the W. 
S., grieves, bagmen, and ten hundred thousand million forbye — 
and wull you, Mr. Ticklei.', presume to tell me the . proper 
modicum o' edication for a' these Pagan and Christian folk ? 

Tickler. Why, James, you put the subject in a somewhat 
new point of view. Go on. Mr. Mullion, if you please, let 
us hear James. 

Shepherd. I hae little or naething to say upon the subject, 
Mr. jN'orth — only it is not in the power o' ony man to say 
what quantum o' knowledge ony other man, be his station 
in life what it may, ought to possess, in order to adorn that 
station and discharge its duties. Besides, different degrees o' 
knowledsre must belons^ to different men even in the same 
station ; and I'm sure it's no you, sir, that would baud clever 
chiels ignorant, that they might be on a level wi' the stupid 
anes o' their ain class. liaise as high as you can the clever 
chiels, and the stupid anes will gain a step by their elevation. 

North. James, the toothache, wi' his venomed stang, has 
been tormenting me all this evening. Excuse my saying but 
little ; but I am quite in the mood for listening, and I never 
heard you much better. 

Shepherd. I'm glad o't. What's that, sir, you're pittin 
into your mouth ? 

North. The depilatory of Spain, James, a sovereign rem 
edy for the toothache. 

• .Yf,"7/77?)7--?Tnall yelping. 



Mullions Appeal. 61 

Shepherd. Take a mouthfu' o' speerit, aud keep whurlin't 
aboot in your mooth — dinna spit it out, but ower wi't — then 
anitlier, and anither, aud anitker — and nae mair toothache in 
your stumps than in a fresh stab ^ in my garden paling. 

North. James, is my cheek swelled? 

Shepherd. Let's tak the cawnel, and hae a right vizy. 
Swalled ! The tae side o' your face, man, is like a haggis, 
and a' the colors o' the rainbow. We maun apply leeches. 
I daursayMrs.'Awmrose has a dizzen in bottles in the house 
— but if no, I'll rin mysel to the laboratory. 

North. The paroxysm is past. Look at Tickler and Mullion 
yonder, playing at backgammon. 

Shepherd. Safe us — sae they are ! Weel, do ye ken, I 
never ance heard the rattlin o' the dice the haill time we 
were speakin. You was sae enterteenin, Mr. North — sae el- 
oquent — sae philosophical. 

Midlion. That's twa ggems, Mr. Tickler. Hurra, hurra 
hurra ! 

Shepherd. Od, man, Mullion, to hear ye hurrain that gate, 
ane wad think ye had never won ony thing a' your lifetime 
afore. When you hae been coortin, did ye never hear a saft 
laigh voice saying, " Ou ay" ? And did you get up, and wave 
your haun that way roun' your head, and cry. Hurra, hurra, 
hurra, like a Don Cossack ? 

Mullion. Do not cut me up any more to-night, James — let 
us be good friends. I beg pardon for snoring yestreen — ^for 
give me, or I must go — for your satire is terrible. 

Shepherd. You're a capital clever chiel, Mullion. I was 
just tryin to see what effect severity o' manner and sarcasm 
wud hae upon you, and I'm content wi' the result o' the ex- 
periment. You see, Mr. North, there's Mullion — and there's 
millions o' Mullions in the warld — whenever he sees me 

• ;S'ia 6— stake. 



62 Card-Playing in Ettrick. 

frichtened for him, or modest like, which is my natural dis- 
position, he rins in upon me like a terrier gauu to pu' a badger. 
That's a' I get by actin on the defensive. Sometimes, there- 
fore, as just noo, I change my tactics, and at him open-mouthed, 
tooth and nail, down wi' him and worry him, as if I were a 
grew,* and him a bit leveret. That keeps him quate for the 
rest o' the nicht, and then the Shepherd can tak his swing 
without let or interruption. 

Tickler. I have not lost a game at backgammon these five 
years ! 

Shepherd. What a lee ! The tailor o' Yarrow Ford dang 
ye a' to bits, baith at gammon and the dambrod, that day I 
grupped the sawmont wi' the wee midge-flee. You were per- 
fectly black in the face wi' anger at the bodie — but he had 
real scientific genius in him by the gift o' nature, the tailor o' 
Yarrow Ford, and could rin up three columns o' feegures at 
a time, no wi' his finger on the sclate, but just in his mind's 
ee, like George Bidder, or the American laddie Colburn. 

North. Gaming is not a vice, then, in the country, James ? 

Shepherd. As for young folks — lads and lasses, like — 
when the gudeman and his wife are gane to bed, what's the 
harm in a ggem at cairds ? It's a cheerfu', noisy sicht o' com- 
fort and confusion. Sic luckin into ane anither's hauns ! Sic 
fause shufflin ! Sic unfair dealin ! Sic winkin to tell 
your pairtner that ye hae the king or the ace ! And when 
that wunna do, sic kickin o' shins and treadin on taes aneath 
the table — aften the wrang anes ! Then down wi' your haun 
o' cairds in a clash on the brod, because you've ane ower few, 
and the coof maun lose his deal ! Then what giggl in amang 
the lasses ! What amicable, nay, love quarrels between pairt- 
ners ! Jokin and jeestin, and tauntin, and toozlin — the caw- 
nel blawn out, and the soun' o' a thousan' kisses ! That's 

* Grew— Greyhouud 



Wolves in the Fo7-est. 63 

caird-playing in the kintra, Mr. North ; and whare's the man 
amano; ye tliat wull daur to say that it's no a pleasant pastime 
o'a winter's nicht, when the snaw is comin doon the lum, or 
the speat's roarin amang the mirk mountains ? 

Midlion. 1 should like to have been t'other day at the 
shooting of the elephant. 

Tickler. Well, I should not. Elephant-feet are excellent. 
— Experto crede Roberto. 

Shepherd. Tidbits ! How are they dressed, Mr. Tickler ? 
Like sheep's-head and trotters, I presume. A capital dish 
for a Sabbath dinner, elephant head and trotters. How mony 
could dine aff't ? I'm gettin hungry — I've a great likin for 
wild beasts. Oh, man ! gin we had but wolves in Scot- 
land ! 

TicMer. Why, they would make you shepherds attend a 
little better to your own business. How could you visit Ed 
inburgh and Ambrose, if there were wolves in the forest? 

Shepherd. I wadua grudge a score o' lambs in the year — 
for the wolves would only raise the price o' butcher's meat — 
tliey would do nae.harm to the kintra. What grand sport, 
lioundin the wolves in singles, or pairs, or flocks, up yonder 
about Loch Skene! 

Tickler. What think you of a few tigers, James ? 

Shepherd. The royal Bengal teegger is no indigenous in 
Scotland, as the wolves was in ancient times ; and that's ae 
reason against wushin to hae him amang us. Let the Alien 
Act be held in operation against him and may he never be 
naturaleezed ! 

Tickler. What ! woul you be afraid of a tiger, James ? 

Shepherd. Would I be afraid o' a teegger, Timothy ? No 
half as afeard as you wad be yourself. Faith, I wadna grudge 
giein a jug o' toddy to see ane play spang upon you frae a 
distance o' twenty yards, and wi' a single pat o' his paw on 



64 North and the Tiger. 

thcat pow o' yours, that ye baud so heigh, fracture youi 
skull, dislocate your neck, crack your spine, and gar ye play 
tapsalteerie * ovver a precipice into a jungle where the teeg- 
ger had his bloody den. 

Tickler. Would you give no assistance — lend no helping 
liund, James ? 

Shepherd. Ou ay, me and some mair wad come to the 
place in a week or twa, when we were sure the teegger had 
changed his feedin' grun', and wad collec the banes for Chris- 
tian burial. But wad you be afraid o' teeggers, Timothy ? 

North. I once did a very foolish thing in the East Indies 
to a tiger. I was out shooting snipes, when the biggest and 
brightest royal tiger I have ever faced before or since rose 
up with a roar like thunder, eyeing me with fiery eyes, and 
tusks half a foot long, and a tail terrific to dwell upon, either 
in memory or imagination. 

Shepherd. I didna ken there had been snipes in the East 
Indies ? 

North. Yes, and sepoys likewise. The tiger seemed, after 
the first blush of the business, to be somewhat disconcerted 
at the unexpected presence of the future Editor of Black- 
wood's Magazine; and, in a much more temperate growl, 
requested * a parley. I hit him right in the left eye with 
number 7, and the distance being little more than five paces, 
it acted like ball, and must have touched the brain — for never 
surely did royal tiger demean himself with less dignity or 
discretion. He threw about twenty somersets, one after the 
other, without intermission, just as you have seen a tumbler 
upon a spring-board. Meanwhile I reloaded my barrel, and 
a wild peacock starting from cover, I could not resist the 
temptation, but gave away a chance against the tiger, by fir- 
ing both barrels successfully against the Bird of Juno. 

♦ Tapsalteerie — ^lieels-OTer-liead. 



Sport — is it cruel ? 65 

Shepherd. I've heard you tell that story a thousan' times, 
Mr. North ; but ye'll pardon me for sayin noo, what I only 
look'd before, that it's a downright lee, without ae word o* 
truth in't, no even o' exaggeration. You never killed a 
teegger wi' snijDe-shot. 

North. Never, James — but I rendered him an idiot or a 
madman for the rest of his life. Much evil is done the cau^e 
of humanity by indiscriminate and illogical abuse of pursuits 
or recreations totally dissimilar. I doubt if any person can 
be really humane in heart unless really sound in head. You 
hear people talk of angling as cruel. 

Shepherd. Fools — fools — waur than fools. It's a maist 
innocent, poetical, moral, and religious amusement. Gin I 
saw a fisher gruppin creelfu' after creelfu' o' trouts, and then 
flingin them a' awa among the heather and the brackens on 
his way hame, I micht begin to suspec that the idiot was by 
nature rather a savage. But as for me, I send presents to 
my freen's, and devour dizzens on dizzens every week in 
the family — maistly dune in the pan, wi' plenty o' fresh 
butter and roun' meal — sae that prevents the possibility 
o' cruelty in my fishin, and in the fishin o' a' reasonable 
creatures. 

North. It seems fox-hunting, too, is cruel. 

Shepherd. Ane may weel lose patience, to think o' fules 
being sorry for the death o' a fox. When the jowlers teur 
him to pieces, he shows fecht, and ga^ngs aff in a snarl. Hoo 
could he dee mair easier ? — and for a' the gude he has ever 
dune, or was likely to do, he surely had leeved lang aneuch. 

North. Did you never use pencil or brush, James ? I do 
not remember anything of yours,. " by an Amateur," in any 
of our Exhibitions. 

Shepherd. I've skarted * some odds and ends wi' the keeli- 

* SAar^et/— sc;ratcbo<1. 



6Q The Shepherd's Landscapes. 

vine on brown paper, and Mr. Scroope * telt Sir Waltei 
they showed a gran' natural genius. I fin' maist diffeeculty 
in the foreshort'nin and perspective. Things wunna retire 
and come forrit as I wush — and the back-grun' will be the 
fore-grun* whether 1 will or no. Sometimes, however, I dash 
the distance aff wi' a lucky stroke, and then I can get in the 
sheep or cattle in front ; and the sketch, when you dinna 
Stan' ower near, has a' the effect o' nature. 

North. Do you work after Salvator Rosa or Claude Lor- 
raine, James ? 

Shepherd. I'm just as original in paintin as in poetry, and 
follow nae master ! I'm partial to close scenes — a bit neuk, 
wi' a big mossy stane, aiblins a birk tree, a burnie mais-t 
dried up, a' but ae deep pool, into which slides a thread o' 
water doun a rock — a shepherd readin — nae ither leevin 
thing — for the flock are ayont the knowes and up amang 
the green hills ; — ay, anither leevin thing, and just ane, — 
his collie, rowed up half-asleep, wi' a pair o' lugs that still 
seem listenin, and his closin een towards his maister. That's 
a simple matter, sir, but, properly disposed, it makes a bonny 
pictur. 

North. I should have thought it easier to " dash ofE " a 
wide open country with the keelivine. 

Shepherd. So it is. I've dune a moor — gin you saw't you 
would doubt the earth being roun', there's sic an extent o' 
flat — and then, though there's nae mountain-taps, you feel 
you're on tableland. I contrive that by means o' the cluds. 
You never beheld stroncjer bent — some o' the stalks thick as 
your arm — and places wi' naething but stanes. Here and 
there earth-chasms, cut by .the far-off folk for their peats — 
and on the foreground something like water, black and sullen. 



* This aecomplisbed gentleman ami keen sportsman was tLe author of a 

finelv illustrated work on <l?er stnlking. . 



The Moor and the " Brigr 67 

as if it quaked. Nae birds but some whaups * — ane lieein, 
and ane walkin by itsel, and ane just sbowin its lang neck 
amang some rushes. You think, at first, it may be the head 
o' a serpent — but there's nane amang our mosses, only 
asks, which is a sort o' lizards, or wee alligators, green, and 
glidin awa without noise or rustle intil the heather. Time — 
avening, or rather late on in the afternoon, when Nature 
shows a solemn — maist an awfu' stillness — and solitude, as I 
hae aften thocht, is deeper than at midnight. 

North. James, I will give you twenty guineas for that 
keelivine sketch. 

Shepherd. Ye'se hae't for naething sir, and welcome — if 
you'll only fasten't against the wa' wi' a prin f aboon the 
brace-piece o' your Leebrary-room. Let it be in the middle, 
and you sail hae Twa Brigs to hing at either side on't. The 
ane, a' the time I was drawin't, I could hardly persuade 
mysel wasna a rainbow. You see, it's flung across a torrent 
geyan far up a hill-side, and I was sittin sketchin't a gude 
piece doun below, on a cairn. The spray o' the torrent had 
wat a' the mosses, and flowers, and weeds, and siclike on 
the arch, and the sun smote it wi' sudden glory, till in an 
instant it burst into a variegated lowe, and I could hae taen 
my Bible-oath it was the rainbow. Oh ! man, that I had 
had a pallet o' colors ! I'm sure I could hae mixed them up 
prismatically aneuch, — yet wi' the verra mere, naked, unas- 
sisted keelivine (that day fortunately it .was a red ane), I 
caught the character o' the apparition ; and keepin my een for 
about a minute on the paper, shadin aff and aff, you ken, as 
fine as I could — when I luckit up again, naething but a bare 
stane-and lime brig, wi' an auld man sittin on a powney, wi' 
his knees up to his chin — ^for he ha]3pened to be a cadger, 

* Whcmps — curlews. t Prin — pin. 



68 Serious Eating. 

and he had his creels. I felt as if it had been a' glamour. 
Sae muckle for ane o' the Twa Brigs. 

Tickler. Now, James, if you please, we shall adjourn to 
supper. It is now exactly ten o'clock, and I smell tlie tur- 
key. From seven o'clock to this blessed moment your tongue 
has never ceased wagging. I must now have my turn. 

Shepherd. Tak your turn, and welcome. As for me, J 
never speak nane during supper. But you may e'en give us 
a soliloquy. 

North. Ten o'clock ! Now, James, eye the folding doors 
— for Ambrose is true to a second. Lo, and behold ! 
(^The doors are thrown open.^ 

Shepherd. Stop, MuUion, stop. What ! will ye daur to 
walk before Mr. North ? Tak my arm, sir. 

North. My dear James, you are indeed my right-hand 
man. You are as firm as a rock. Thou art indeed the 
" Gentle Shepherd—" 

Shepherd. Gentle is that gentle does — and I hope, on the 
whole, nane o' my freen's hae ony reason to be ashamed o' 
me, though I hae my failins. 

North. I know not what they are, James. There — there 

— on the right hand — ay, say the grace, James. Tliank 

ye, James — we have been joking away, but now it behoves 
us to sit down to serious eating, while Timothy regales our 
ears with a monologue. 



VI. 



IN WHICH THE SHEPHED ASSISTS AT AN INCREMA- 
TION. 

Blue Parlor. 

North. — Tickler. — Shepherd. — Clerk of the Ba- 
laam-box. — Mr Ambrose. — Devil. — Porters. — In- 
cremators. 

Shepherd. Safe us ! I was never at an Incremation afore ! 

North. Mr. Ambrose, bring in Balaam,* and place him on 
the table. 

Mr. Ambrose. May I crave the assistance of the Increma- 
tors, sir — for he is heavier this year than I ever remember 
him, since that succeedino; the Chaldee. 

Shepherd. Is yon him ovver-by in the window neak. I'se 
tak hand o' ane o' the end-handles mysel. Come, you wee 
lazy deevil there, what for are you skartin your lug at that 
gate ? Getupandbeusefu'. — Noo, Mr. Ambrose, let us put 
a' our strength till't, and try to hoise him up, our twa lanes, 
ontil the table. 

Tickler. My dear Shepherd, you'll burst a blood-vessel. 
Let me assist. 

North. And me too ! 

Shepherd. Dinna loot f wi' that lang back o' yours, Mr. 
Tickler. Pity me — I hear't crackin. There, it muves ! it 
muves ! — What for are you trampin on my taes, Mr. Awmrose ? 

* The depository of rejected contributions. t ioo^— stoop. 

69 



70 The Preliminaries. 

— Diiiua mrn that way in my face, Mr. Beelzebub. 

,% , ./ * . imour. 

gars us a lowre stoiter.* 

CShepherd, Tickler, Beelzebub, and ^ 
' ' to 

succeed in placing the Balaam-box on the tabl 

North. Thank ye, gentlemen. Here is a glass of 
to each of you. 

Shepherd. North, rax me ower the Stork. There — that's 
a hantle heartsomer than ony o' your wines, either white or 
black. It's just maist excellent whisky, Glenlivet or no 
Glenlivet. But hech, sir, that's a sad box, that Balaam, and 
I'll weigh't against its ain bouk,t lead only excepted o' ony 
ither material noo extant, and gi'e a stane. 

North. Let the Incremators take their stations. 

{They do so, one at each side of the chimney. The 
Incremators are firemen helonging to the Sun Fire 
Office.) 

Devil ! 

Devil. Here ! 

North. Clerk of the B. B. 

a B. B. Here ! 

North. Open Balaam. 

G. B. B. Please, sir, to remember the catastrophe of last 
year. We must take the necessary precautions- 

North. Certainly. — Mr. Hogg, oli opening Balaam last 
year, we had neglected to put weight on the lid, and the mo- 
ment the clerk had turned the key, it flew up with prodig- 
ious violence, and the jammed-down articles, as if discharged 
from a culverin, wafted destruction around — breaking that 
beautiful fifty-guinea mirror, in whose calm and lucid depths 
wo had so often seen ourselves reflected to the very life — 
all but speech. 

Shepherd. I could greet to think on't. A' dung X to shivers 
— scarcely ac bit big eneuch to shave by. But the same 

* SioUer — stagger. 1 JJoiiJc — bulk. t JDung— knocked. 



Lucifer and Beelzebub. Tl 

befa' the year — for I'ae sit cloun upon the lid like 
dn angel, and the lid'll hae a powerfu' spring indeed 
- ylmmles me ower after sic a denner. 

e^ Shepherd mounts the table with youthful alacrity^ 
dtid sits down on the Balaam-box.') 
North. Use both your hands, sir. 

C. B, B. Beg your pardon — Mr. North — there the key 
turn*;— Sit fast, Mr. Hogg. 

Shepherd. Never mind me, I'm sittin as fast's a rock. — 
(^The lid, like a catapulta, dislodges the Shepherd, who 
alights on his feet a few yards from the table.^ 
Tickler. My dear Shepherd, why, you are a rejected con- 
tributor ! 

North. Mr. Ambrose, send in the scavenger. — Sorters, col- 
lect and arrange. 

(C. B. B., Sorters, and Devil infidl employment.) 
Shepherd. Thae Incremawtors hae a gran' effec ! They 
canna be less than sax feet four, and then what whuskers ! 
I scarcely ken whether black whuskers or red whuskers be 
the maist fearsome ! What tangs in their hauns ! and what 
pokers ! Lucifer and Beelzebub ! 

North. At home, James, and at their own firesides, they 
are the most peaceable of men. 

Shepherd. I canna believe't, Mr. North, I canna believe't ! 
they can hae nae human feeling — neither sighs nor tears. 

North. They are men, James, and do their duty. — Pie with 
the red whiskers was married this forenoon to a pretty del- 
icate little girl of eighteen, quite a fairy of a thing — seem- 
ingly made of animated wax — so soft that, like the winged 
butterfly, you would fear to touch her, lest you might spoil 
the burnished beauty. 

Shepherd. Married — on him wi' the red whuskei s ! 

* /S/iiTina— shall not. 



72 '* All Poetry to Beelzebub.'' 

Nor'th. Come, now, James, no affected simplicity, no Arca« 
dian innocence ! 

Shepherd. You miclit hae gi'en him the play the day, I 
think, sir ; you micht hae gi'en him the play. The Incre- 
mawtor ! 

Devil. Tlie sorters have made up a skuttlefu' o' poetry. — 
Sii", shall I deliver up to Lucifer or Beelzebub ? 

North. All poetry to Beelzebub. 

Shepherd. A' poetry to Beelzebub ! ! O wae's me, wae's 
me. — Well-a-day, wcll-a-day I lias it indeed come to this ? 
A' poetry to Beelzebub ! I can scarce believe my lugs — 

North. Stop, Beelzebub — read aloud that bit of paper yon 
have in your fist. 

Beelzehuh. Yes, sir. 

Shepherd. Lord safe ais, what a voice ! They're my ain 
verses, too. Whist — whist. 

(Beelzebub recites " The great muckle village of Bal- 
maquhapple.") 

North {to Tickler, aside). Bad — Hogg's. 

Shepherd. What's that you two are speaking about? 
Speak ujD. 

North. These fine lines must be preserved, James. Pray, 
are they allegorical ? 

Shepherd. What a dracht in that lum ! * It's a verra 
fiery furnace ! — hear till't hoo it roars, like wund in a cavern ! 
Sonnets, charauds, elegies, pastorals, lyrics, farces, tragedies, 
and y epics — in they a' gang into the general bleeze ; then 
til ere is naething but sparkling ashes, and noo the thin, black, 
wavering coom o' annihilation and oblivion ! It's a S3,d 
sicht, and but for the bairnliness o't, I could weel gre(;t. 
Puir cliiels and lasses, they had ither howps when they sat 
down to compose, and invoked Apollo and the Muses ! 

* i/i<m— cliimney. 



A Mithiight Burning of Heather, 73 

North. James, the poor creatures have been all hapj^y in 
their inspiration. Why weep ? Probably, too, they kept 
copies, and other Balaam-boxes may be groaning with dupli- 
cates. 'Tis a strano;e world we live in ! 

Shepherd. Was yo\x ever at the burning o' heather or 
whins, Mr. North ? 

North. I have, and have enjoyed the illuminated heavens. 

Tickler. Describe. 

North. In half-an-hour from the first spark, the hill glow- 
ed with fire unextinguishable by waterspout. The crackle 
became a growl, as acre after acre joined the flames. Here 
and there a rock stood in the way, and the burning waves 
broke against it, till the crowning birch-tree took fire, and its 
tresses, like a shower of flaming diamonds, were in a minute 
consumed. Whirr, whirr, played the frequent gorcock 
gobbling in his fear ; and, swift as shadows, the old hawks 
flew screaming from their young, all smothered in a nest' of 
ashes. 

TicJder. Good — excellent ! — Go it a2:ain. 

North. The great pine-forest on the mountain side, two 
miles off, frowned in ghastly light, as in a stormy sunset — 
and 3'ou could see the herd of red deer, a whirlwind of ant- 
lers, descending, in their terror, into the black glen, whose 
entrance gleamed once — twice — thrice, as if there had been 
lightning ; and then, as the wind changed the direction of 
the flames, all the distance sank in dark repose. 

Tickler, Vivid coloring, indeed, sir. Paint away. 
' North. That was an eagle that shot between and the moon. 

Tickler. What an image ! 

North. Millions of millions of sparks of fire in heaven, but 
only some six or seven stars. How calm the large lustre of 
Hesperus ! 

Tickler. James, what do you think of that, eh "i 



74 Tlie Heat hecoynes intolerable. 

Shepherd. Didna, ye pity the taids and puddocks, and asks 
and beetles, and slaters and snails and spiders, and worms 
and ants, and caterpillars and bumbees, and a' the rest o' 
the insect-world, perishin in the flamin nicht o' their last 
judgment ? 

North. In another season, James, what life, beauty, and 
bliss over the verdant wilderness ! There you see and hear 
the bees busy on the white clover — while the lark comes 
wavering down from heaven, to sit beside his mate on her 
nest ! Here and there are still seen the traces of fire, but 
they are nearly hidden by flowers — and — 

Shepherd. For a town-chiel, Mr. North, you describe the 
kintra wi' surprisin truth and spirit ; but there's aye some- 
thing rather wantin about your happiest pictures, as if you 
had glowered on everything in a dream or trance. 

North. Like your own Kilmeny, James, I am fain to steal 
away from this everyday world into the Land of Glamoury. 

Shepherd. sirs ! the room's gettin desperate warm. I 
pity the poor Incremawtors — they maun be unco dry. Beel- 
zebub, open the window, man, ye ugly deevil, and let in a 
current o' cool air. Mr. North, I canna thole the heat ; and 
I ask it as a particular favor, no to burn the prose till after 
supper. At a' events, let the married Incremawtor gang 
harae to his bride — and there's five shillings to him to drink 
my health at his ain ingle. 

(Incremator, Devil, Clerk of the Balaam-box, 
Porters, and Mr. Ambrose retire.) 

North. Who are the wittiest men of our day. Tickler ? 

TicJder. Christopher North, Timothy Tickler, and James 
Hogg. 

North. Poo, poo — we all know that — but out of doors ? 

Tickler. Canning, Sydney Smith, and Jeffrey. 

North. I fear it is so. Canning's wit is infallible. It is 



Camming arid Brougham, 75 

never out of time or place, and is finely proportioned to its 
object. Has he a good-natured, gentlemanly, well-educated 
blockhead — say of the landed interest — to make ridiculous, 
he does it so pleasantly, that the Esquire joins in the general 
smile. Is it a coarse, calculating dunce of the mercantile 
school — he suddenly hits him such a heavy blow on the organ 
of number, that the stunned economist is unable to sum up 
the total of the whole. Would some pert prig of the profes- 
sion be facetious overmuch, Canning ventures to the very 
borders of vulgarity, and discomfits him with an old Joe. 
Doth some mouthing member of mediocrity sport orator, and 
make use of a dead tongue, then the classical Secretary* 
runs him through and through with apt quotations, and before 
the member feels himself wounded, the whole House sees 
that he is a dead man. 

Tickler. His wit is shown in greatest power in the battles 
of the giants. When Brougham bellows against him, a Bull 
of Bashan, the Secretary waits till his horns are lowered for 
the death-blow, and then, stepping aside, he plants with 
graceful dexterity the fine-tempered weapon in the spine of 
the mighty Brute. 

Shefherd. Whish !- — Nae personality the nicht. Michty 
Brute. — Do you ca' Hairy Brumm a michty Brute ? He's 
just a maist agreeable enterteenin fallow, and I recollect 
sittin up wi' him a' nicht, for three nichts rinnin, about 
thretty years syne, at Miss Kitchie's hottel, Peebles. O man, 
but he was wutty wutty— and bricht thochts o' a maist ex- 
traordinary kind met thegether frae the opposite poles o' 
the human understanding. I prophesied at every new half- 
mutchkin that Mr. Brumm would be a distinguished charac- 
ter ; and there he is, you see, Leader o' the Opposition ! 

Tickler. His Majesty's Opposition ! 

* At this time Canning wae Secretary of State for Foreign AffairB. 



76 Sydney Smith, 

Xorth. Sydney Smith is a wit. 

Shejiherd. No him — perpetually playin upon words. I 
canna thole to hear words played upon till they lose their 
natural downright meaning and signification. It was only 
last week that a fallow frae Edinburgh came out to the south 
for o] ders o' speerits amang the glens (rum, and brandy, and 
Hollands), and I asked him to dine at Mount Benger. He 
had hardly put his hat on a peg in the transe,* afore he began 
playin wi' his ain words ; and he had nae sooner sat down, 
than he began playin wi' mine too, makin puns o' them, and 
double-entendres, and bits o' intolerable wutticisms, aneuch 
to make a body scunner. Faith, I cut him short, by tellin 
him that nae speerit dealer in the kingdom should play the 
fule in my house, and that if he was a wut, he had better 
saddle his powney and be aff to Selkirk. He grew red red 
in the face; but for the rest o'.the evening, and we didna 
gang to bed till the sma' hours, he was not only rational, but 
clever and weel-informed, and I gi'ed him an order for twenty 
gallons. 

Tickler. Yes — Sydney Smith has a rare genius for the 
grotesque. He is, with his quips and cranks, a formidable 
enemy to pomposity, and pretension. No man can wear a 
big wig comfortably in his presence : the absurdity of such 
enormous frizzle is felt ; and the dignitary would fain ex- 
change all that horse-hair for a few scattered locks of another 
animal. 

North. He would make a lively interlocutor at a Noctes. 
Indeed, I intend to ask him, and Mr. Jeffrey, and Cobbett, 
and Joseph Hume, and a few more choice spirits, to join our 
festiv^e board — 

Shepherd. man, that will be capital sports ! Sic con- 
versation ! 

* Ti-cmse—a. passage within a liouse,~the lobby. 



A Thunderstorm in Yarrow. 77 

TicMer. O my dear James, conversation is at a very low 
ebb in this world ! 

Shepherd. I've often thought and felt that, at parties 
where ane micht hae expeckit better things. First o' a' comes 
the wather — no a bad toppic, but ane that town's folks kens 
naething about. Wather ! My faith, had ye been but in 
Yarrow last Thursday ! 

TicMer. What was the matter, James, the last Thursday 
in Yarrow ? 

Shepherd. I'se tell you, and judge for yoursel. At four in 
the mornin, it was that hard frost that the dubs * were 
bearin, and the midden f was as hard as a rickle o' stanes. 
We couldna plant the potawtoes. But the lift was clear. 
Between eight and nine, a snaw-storm came down frae the 
mountains about Loch Skene — noo a whirl, and noo a blash, 
till the grun' was whitey-blue, wi' a sliddery sort o' sleet, 
and the Yarrow began to roar wi' the melted broo alang its 
frost-bound borders, and aneath its banks, a' hanffino- wi' 
icicles, nane o' them thinner than my twa arms. Weel, then, 
about eleven it began to rain, for the wund had shifted — and 
afore dinnertime it was an even-doun pour. It fell lown 
about sax, and the air grew close and sultry to a degree that 
was fearsome. Wha wud hae expeckit a thunderstorm on 
the eve o' sic a day ? But the heavens, in the thundery airt, 
were like a dungeon — and I saw the lightning playing like 
meteors athwart the blackness, lang before ony growl was 
in the gloom. Then, a' at ance, like a waken'd lion, the 
thunder rose up in his den, and shakin his mane o' brindled 
clouds, broke out into sic a roar, that the very sun shud- 
dered in eclipse — and the grews and collies that happened 
to be sittin beside me on a bit^ knowe, gaed whinin into the 
house wi' their tails atween their legs, jijst venturin a haflSin 

* Z)m5s— puddles. t Midden— di\xngh.\\\. 



78 ^ Calm in Yarroiv. 

glance to the howling heavens, noo a' in low, for the fire 
was strong and fierce in electrical matter, and at intervals 
the illuminated mountains seemed to vomit out conflagration 
like verra volcanoes. 

Tickler. ^ E~ta --epos'^ra ! 

Shepherd. Afore sunset, heaven and earth, like lovers after 
a quarrel, lay embraced in each other's smile ! 

North. Beautiful ! Beautiful ! Beautiful ! 

Tickler. Oh ! James — James — James ! 

Shepherd. The lambs began their races on the lea, and the 
thrush o' Eltrive (there is but a single pair in the vale aboon 
the kirk) awoke his hymn in the hill-silence. It was mair 
like a mornin than an evenin twilight, and a' the day's hurly- 
burly had passed awa into the uncertainty o' a last week's 
dream ! 

North. Proof positive that, from the lips of a man of 
genius, even the weather — 

Shepherd. I could speak for hours, days, months, and 
years about the wather, without e'er becoming tiresome. O 
man, a cawm ! 

North. On shore, or at sea ? 

Shepherd. Either. I'm wrapped up in my plaid, and lyin 
a' my length on a^ bit green platform, fit for the f aries' feet, 
wi' a craig hangin ower me a thousand feet high, yet bright 
and balmy a' the way up wi' flowers and briars, and broom 
and birks, and mosses maist beautifu' to behold wi' half-shut 
ee, and through aneath ane's arm, guardin the face frae the 
cloudless sunshine ! 

North. A rivulet leaping from the rock — 

Shepherd. No, Mr. North, no loupin ; for it seems as if it 
were nature's ain Sabbath, and the verra waters were at rest. 
Look down upon the vale profound, and the stream is with- 
out motion ! No doubt, if you were walking along the bank, 



A Calm in Yarrow. 70 

it would be murmuring with your feet. But here — here up 
among the hills, we can imagine it asleep, even like the well 
within reach of my staif ! 

North. Tickler, pray make less noise, if you can, in driniv- 
ing, and also in putting down your tumbler. You break in 
upon the repose of James' picture. 

Shepherd. Perhaps a bit bonny butterfly is resting wi' 
faulded wings on a gowan, no a yard frae your cheek ; and 
noo, waukening out o' a simmer dream, floats awa in its 
wavering beauty, but, as if unwilling to leave its place of 
mid-day sleep, comin back and back, and roun' and roun', 
on this side and that side, and ettlin * in its capricious happi- 
ness to fasten again on some brighter floweret, till the same 
breath o' wund that lifts up your hair sae refreshingly catches 
the airy voyager, and wafts her away into some other nook, 
of her ephemeral paradise. 

Tickler. I did not know that butterflies inhabited the re- 
gion of snow. 

Shepherd. Ay, and mony million moths ; some o' as lovely 
green as of the leaf of the moss-rose, and itbers bright as the 
blush with which she salutes the dewy dawn ; some yellow 
as the long steady streaks that lie below the sun at set, and 
ithers blue as the sky before his orb has westered. Spotted, 
too, are all the glorious creatures' wings — say, rather, 
starred wi' constellations ! Yet, O sirs, they are but crea- 
tures o' a day ! 

North. Go on with the calm, James — the calm ! 

Shepherd.- Gin a pile o' grass straughtens itself in silence, 
you hear it distinctly. I'm thinkin that was the noise o' a 
beetle gaun to pay a visit to a freen on the ither side o' that 
mossy stane. The melting dew quakes ! Ay, sing awa, my 
bonny bee, maist industrious o' God's creatures ! Dear me, 

* Ettlin — intending, attempting. 



80 A Temple in the Clouds. 

the heat is ower muckle for him, and he burrows himsel in 
amang a tuft o' grass, like a beetle panting ! and noo invisi- 
ble a' but the yellow doup o' him. I too feel drowsy, and 
will go to sleep amang the mountain solitude. 

North. Not with such a show of clouds — 

Shepherd. No ! not with such a show of clouds. A congre- 
gation of a million might worship in that Cathedral ! What 
a dome ! And is not that flight of steps magnificent ? My 
imagination sees a crowd of white-robed spirits ascending to 
the inner shrine of the temple. Hark — a bell tolls ! Yon- 
der it is, swinging to and fro, half-minute time, in its tower 
of clouds. The great air-organ 'gins to blow its pealing 
anthem — and the overcharged spirit, falling from its vision, 
sees nothing but the pageantry of earth's common vapors — 
that ere long will melt in showers, or be wafted away in 
darker masses over the distance of the sea. Of what better 
stuff, Mr. North, are made all our waking dreams ? Call 
not thy Shepherd's strain fantastic ; but look abroad over 
the work-day world, and tell him where thou seest aught 
more steadfast or substantial than that cloud-cathedral, with 
its flight of vapor-steps, and its mist towers, and its air-organ, 
now all gone for ever, like the idle words that imaged the 
transitory and delusive glories. 

TicUer. Bravo, Shepherd, bravo ! You have nobly vindi- 
cated the weather as a topic of conversation. What think 
you of the Theatre — Preaching — Politics — Magazines and 
Reviews, and the threatened Millenium ? 

Shepherd. Na, let me tak my breath. What think ye 
Mr. Tickler, yoursel, o' preachin ? 

Tickler. No man goes to church more regularly than I do ; 
but the people of Scotland are cruelly used by their ministers. 
No sermon should exceed half an hour at the utmost. That ia 
a full allowance. . . . {The long-winded are rated hy the three,) 



Tickler in the Pulpit. 81 

North. What the deuce is the meaning of all this vitupera- 
tion ? 

Shepherd. Deil tak me gin I ken. But I fin' mysel gettin 
desperate angry at something or ither, and could abuse maist 
onybody. Wha was't that introduced the toppic o' kirks ? 
1 'm sure it wasna me. It was you, Mr. Tickler. 

Tickler. Me introduce the top of kirks ? 

Shepherd. Yes ; you said, " What think you of the theatre 
— preaching — politics — magazines and reviews, and the 
threatened millennium?" I'll swear to the verra words, as 
if I had taen them down wi' the keelivine. 

North. James, don't you think Tickler would have been 
an admirable preacher ? 

Shepherd. I canna say ; but I could answer for his being 
a good precentor.* 

Tickler. Why not a preacher ? 

Shepherd. You wadna hae been to be depended on. Your 
discourses, like your ain figure, wad hae wanted proportion ; 
and as for doctrine, I doubt you wad hae been heterodox. 
Then, you wad hae been sic a queer-lookin chiel in the poupit ! 

Tickler. Don't you think I would have been an admirable 
„ Moderator ? f 

Shepherd. You're just best as you are — a gentleman at large. 
You're scarcely weel adapted for ony profession — except 
maybe a fizician. You wad hae fan't a pulse wi' a true 
, Esculawpian solemnity ; and that face o' yours, when you 
looked glum or gruesome, wad hae frichtened families into 
fees, and held patients down to sick-beds, season after 
season. man ! but you wad hae had gran' practice. 

* The " precentor " in the Presbyterian service corresponds to the 
" clerk " in the Episcopalian. 

t Moderator, or president, of the General Assembly of the Ohurch of 
Scotland. 



82 Quackery in all P^^ofesswns. 

Tickler. I could not have endured the quackery of the 
thing, Hogg. 

Shepherd. Haud your tongue. There's equal quackery in 
a' things alike. Look at a sodger — that is, an offisher — a' 
wavin wi' white plumes, glitterin wi' gowd, and ringin wi' 
iron — ^gallopin on a grey horse, that caves * the foam frae its 
fiery nostrils, wi' a mane o' clouds, and a tail that flows like 
a cataract — mustachies about the mouth like a devourin can- 
nibal, and proud, fierce een, that seem glowerin for an enemy 
into the distant horrison — his long swurd swinging in the 
scabbard wi' a fearsome clatter aneath Bellerophon's belly 
— and his doup dunshin f down among the spats o' a teeg 
ger's skin, or that o' a leopard — till the sound o' the trumpet 
gangs up to the sky. answered by the rampaugin Arab's "'ha, 
ha," — and a' the stopped street stares on the aide-de-camp o' 
the stawf, — writers' clerks, bakers, butchers, and printers' 
deevils, a' wushin they were sodgers, — and leddies frae bal 
conies, where they sit shooin silk purses in the sunshine, 
start up, and, wi' palpitatin hearts, send looks o' love and 
languishment after the Flyin Dragon. 

North. Mercy on us, James, you are a perfect Tyrta:,us. 

Shepherd. ! wad you believe't — but it's true — that at 
school that symbol o' extermination was ca'd Fozie t Tam ? 

North. Spare us, James — spare us. The pain in our side 
returns. 

Shepherd. Every callant in the class could gie him his licks ; 
and I recollec ance a lassie geein him a bloody nose. He 
durstna gang into the dookin § aboon his doup, for fear o' 
drownin, and even then wi' seggs ; 1[ and as for speelin trees, 

* Caves — tosses. 

^Dunshin. — There seems to be no English -word for tliis except "bump. 
Ing ; " yet how feeble. 
X Fozie— &oit as a frost-bitten turnip. § 2>ooH/i— bathing. 

IT Seggs— aedgea, answering the purpose of a cork jacket. 



''Fozie Tarn:' 83 

he never ventured aboon the rotten branches o' a Scotch fir. 
He was feared for ghosts, and wadna sleep in a room by him- 
sel ; and ance on a Halloween, he swarfed at the apparition 
o' a lowin turnip. * But noo he's a warrior, and fouo-ht at 
Waterloo. Yes — Fozie Tam wears a medal, for he overthrew 
Napoleon. Ca' ye na that quackery, wi' a vengeance ? 

North. Why, James, you do not mean surely thus to char- 
acterize the British soldier ? 

Shepherd. No. The British army, drawn up in order o' 
battle, seems to me an earthly image of the power_ of the 
right hand of God. But still what I said was true, and nae 
ither name had he at school but Fozie Tam. sirs ! when 
I see what creturs like him can do, I could greet that I'm no 
a sodo^er. 

Tickler. What the deuce can they do, that you or I, James, 
cannot do as well, or better ? 

Shepherd. I wonder to hear you askin. Let you or me 
gang into a public room at ae door, amang a hunder bonny 
lassies, and Fozie Tam in full uniform at anither, and every 
star in the firmament will shine on him alone — no a glint for 
ane o' us twa — no a smile or a syllable — we can only see the 
back o' their necks. 

Tickler. And bare enough they probably are, James. 

Shepherd. Nae great harm in that, Mr. Tickler, for a bonny 
bare neck can do naebody ill, and to me has aye rather the 
look o' innocence— but maun a poet or orator — 

Tickler. Be nes^lected on account of Fozie Tam ? 

Shepherd. And by mony o' the verra same creturs that at 
a great leeterary sooper the nicht afore were sae affable and 
sae flatterin, askin me to receet my ain verses-, and sing my ain 
sangs — drinkin the health o' the Author o' the Queen^s Wake 
in toddy out o' his ain tumbler — shakin hauns at partin, and 

* A turnip laiUliom. 



84 The Fife Hens. 

in the confusion at the foot o' the stairs, puttin their faces 
sae near mine, that their sweet, warm breath was maist like a 
faint, doubtf u' kiss, dirlin ^ to ane's very heart — and after a' 
this, and mair than this, only think o' being clean forgotten, 
overlooked, or despised for the sake o' Fozie Tarn ! 

Tickler. We may have our revenge. Wait till you fiiii; 
him in plain clothes — on half-pay, James, or so.ld out — and 
then, like Romeo, when the play is over, and the satin 
breeches off, he walks behind the scenes, no better than a 
tavern-waiter, or a man-milliner's apprentice. 

Shepherd. There's some comfort in that, undoubtedly.— 
Are the Fife hens layin ? 

North. Yes, James, and Tapitoury is sitting. 

Shepherd. That's richt. Weel, o' a' the how-towdies I 
ever ate, yon species is the maist truly gigantic. I could hae 
taen my Bible-oath that they were turkeys. Then I thocht, 
" Surely they maun be capons ; " but when I howked into 
the inside o' ane o' them, and brought out a spoonfu' o' yel- 
low eggs, frae the size o' a peppercorn to that o' a boy's 
bools, t and up to the bulk o' a ba' o' thread, thinks 1 to my- 
sel, " Sure aneuch they are hens," and close upon the layin. 
Maist a pity to kill them ! 

North. James, you shall have a dozen eggs to set, and 
future ages will wonder at the poultry of the Forest. Did 
you ever see a capercailzie ? 

Shepherd. Never. They have been extinct in Scotland for 
fifty years. But the truth is, Mr. North, that all domesticated 
fowl would live bra wly if turned out into the wilds and woods. 
They might lose in size, but they would gain in sweetness — 
a wild sweetness — caught frae leaves and heather-berries, and 
the products o' desert places, that are blooming like the rose. 
A tame turkey wad be a wild ane in sax months ; and oh, 

* Dirlin— ihxUWnz. t/ioo/s— marbles. 



Tickle7''s Melancholy. 85 

sir ! it wad be gran' sport to see and hear a great big bub- 
bly-jock* gettin on the wing in a wood, wi' a loud gobble, 
gobble, gobble, redder than ordinar in the face, and the ugly 
feet o' him danglin aneath his heavy hinder-end, till the hail 
brought him down with a thud and a squelch amang the as- 
tonished pointers I 

North. You seem melancholy. Tickler — a penny for your 
thoughts. * 

Tickler. I am depressed under the weight of an unwritten 
article. That everlasting Magazine of yours embitters my 
existence. Oh tliat there were but one month in the year 
without a Blackwood ! 

Shepherd. Or rather a year in ane's life without it, that a 
body micht hae leisure to prepare for anither warld. Hoo 
the Numbers accumulate on the shelve o' ane's leebrary ! I 
begin to think they breed. Then a dizzen or twa are maist- 
ly lyin on the drawers-head — twice as mony mair in the 
neuks o' rooms, up and down stairs — the servants get baud i 
o' them in the kitchen — and ye canna open the press to tak 
a dram, but there's the face o' Geordy Buchanan. 

Tickler. My dear Shepherd, you are a happy man in the 
Forest, beyond the clutches and the clack of an Editor. But 
here am I worried to death by devils, from the tenth to the 
twentieth of every month. I wish I was dead. 

Shepherd. You diiina wush ony sic thing, Mr. Tickler. 
That appeteet o' yours is worth five thousan' a year. 
man ! it wad be a sair pity to dee wi' sic an appeteet ! 

[^ Clock strikes fen — -folding -doors Jly open, and the Tria 
Lumina Scotorum sit down to supper. 

* £ubbly.jocJc—tvLrkej-coek, 



VII. 

AT THE LODGE IN SUMMER., 

Scene, — Buchanan Lodge — Porch. Time, — Afternoon. 
North. — Tickler. — Shepherd. 

Shepherd. What a changed warld, sirs, since that April 
forenoon we druv doun to the Lodge in a cotch ! I couldna. 
but pity the puir Spring. 

Tickler. Not a primrose to salute his feet that shivered in 
the snow-wreath. 

North. Not a lark to hymn his advent in the uncertain 
sunshine. 

Shepherd. No a bit butterflee on its silent waver, meeting 
the murmur of the straightforward bee. 

Tickler. In vain Spring sought his Flora, in haunts be- 
loved of old, on the banks of the shaded rivulet — 

North. Or in nooks among the rocky mountains — 

Shepherd. Or oases among the heather — 

Tickler. Or parterres of grove-guarded gardens — 

North. Or within the shadow of veranda — 

Shepherd. Or forest glade, where move the antlers of the 
iinhunted red deer. — In siccan bonny spats hae I often seen 
the Spring, like a doubtfu' glimmer o' sunshine, appearing 
and disappearing frae amang the birk-trees, twenty times 

86 



The Hackney Coaoli. 87 

in the course o' an April day. — But, oh ! sirs, you was just 
a maist detestable forenoon, — and as for the hackney- 
cotch — 

Tickler. The meanest of miseries ! 

Shepherd. It's waur than sleepin in damp sheets. You 
haena sat twa hunder yards till your breeks are glued to the 
clammy seat, that fin's* saft and hard aneath you at ane and 
the same time, in a maist unaccountable manner. The auld, 
cracked, stained, faded, tarnished, red leather lining stinks 
like a tan-yard. Gin you want to let down the window, or 
pu't up, it's a' alike ; you keep rugging at the lang slobbery 
worsted till it comes aff wi' a tear in your haun, and leaves 
you at the mercy o' wind and weather, — then what a sharp 
and continual rattle o' wheels ! far waur than a cart ; in- 
tolerable aneuch ower the macadam, but Lord hae mercy on 
us when you're on the causeway ! you could swear the 
wheels are o' different sizes ; up wi' the tae side, doun wi' the 
titlier, sae that nae man can be sufficiently sober to keep his 
balance. Puch ! puch ! what dung-like straw aneath your 
soles ; and as for the roof, sae laigli that you canna keep on 
your hat, or it'll be dunshed down atower your ee-brees ; then, 
if there's sax or eight o' you in ae fare — f 

Tickler. Why don't you keep your own carriage, James ? 

Shepherd. So I do — a gig ; but when I happen to for 
gather wi' sic scrubs as you, that grudge the expense o' a 
yeckipage o' their ain, I maun submit to a glass-cotch and a' 
its abominations. 

Noi'th. How do you like that "punch, James ? 

Shepherd. It's rather ower sair iced, I jalouse, and will be 

• i^'m's— feels. 

t This is a faithful description of the old hackney-coach— a very different 
felucle from the smart broughams which now ply upon our streets. 



88 The Inebriety of the Sober. 

apt to gie ane the toothache ; but it has a gran' taste, aiid a 
maist seducin smell. — Oh ! man, that's a bonny ladle ! and 
you hae a nice way o' steerin ! Only half-fu', if you please, 
sir, for thae wineglasses are perfect tummlers, and though 
the drink seems to be, when you are preein't, as innocent as 
the dew o' lauchin lassie's lip, yet it's just as dangerous, and 
leads insensibly on, by littles and wees, to a state o' uncon- 
scions intoxication. 

Tickler. I never saw you the worse o' liquor in my life, 
James. 

Shepherd. Nor me you. ; 

North. None but your sober men ever get drunk. 

Shepherd. I've observed that many a thousan' times ; just 
as nane but your excessively healthy men ever die. When- 
e'er I hear in the kintra o' ony man's being killed aff his 
horse, I ken at once that he's a sober coof, that's been gettin 
himsel drunk at Selkirk or Hawick, and sweein aff at a sharp 
turn ower the bank, he has played wallop into the water, 
or is aiblins been fun' lyin in the middle o' the road, wi' his 
neck dislocate, the doctors canna tell hoo ; or ayont the wa' 
wi' his harns * sticking on the coupin-stane. 

North. Or, foot in stirrup, and face trailing the pebbly 
mire, swept homewards by a spanking half-bred, and disen- 
tangled at the door by shriek and candle-light. 

Shepherd. Had he been in the habit o' takin his glass like 
a Christian, he wad hae ridden like a Centaur ; and instead ,- 
o' havin been brought hame a corp, he wuld hae been 
staggering geyan steady into the parlor, wi' a' the weans 
ruggin at his pouches for fairins,t and his wife, half angry, 
half pleased, helpin him tidily and tenderly aff wi' his big 
boots ; and then by and by mixing him the bowster cup — 
and then — 

• flams— brains- f Fairms— presents. 



The Inebriety of the Sober. 89 

Tickler. Your sober man, on every public occasion of 
festivity, is uniformly seen, soon after " the Duke of York 
and the Army," led off between two waiters, with his face as 
white as the table-cloth, eyes upwards, and a ghastly smile 
about his gaping mouth, that seems to threaten unutterable 
things before he reach the lobby. 

North. He turns round his head at the *' three times three," 
with a loyal hiccup, and is borne off a speechless martyr to 
the cause of Hanoverian Succession. 

Shepherd. I wad rather get fou five hunder times in an 
ordinary way like, than ance to expose mysel sae afore my 
fellow-citizens. Yet, meet my gentleman next forenoon in 
the Parliament House, or in a bookseller's shop, or in Princes 
Street, arm-in-arm wi' a minister, and he hands up his face 
as if naething had happened, speaks o' the pleasant party, 
expresses his regret at having been obliged to leave it so 
soon, at the call of a client, and, ten to ane, denounces you 
to his cronies for a drunkard, who exposes himself in com- 
pany, and is getting constantly into scrapes that promise a 
fatal termination. 

North. Hush ! The minstrels ! 

Shepherd. Maist delightfu' music ! O sir, hoo it sweetens, 
and strengthens, and merrifies as it comes up the avenue ! 
Are they Foreigners ? 

North. An itinerant family of Savoyards. 

Shepherd. Look at them — ^look at them ! What an out- 
landish, toosy-headed, wee sunbrunt deevil o' a lassie that, 
playing her antics, heel and head, wi' the tambourine. Yon's 
a darlin wi* her thoom coquet-coquettin on the guitaur, and 
makin music without kennin't — a' the while she is curtshyin 
and singin wi' lauchin rosy mouth, and then blushin be- 
cause we're o^lowerinor on her. and lettin fa' her bicf black een 
on the gtun', as if a body were asking for a kiss ! That m:iun 



90 The Savoyard Minstrels. 

be her younger sister, as dark as a gyps'ey, that hafflins 
lassie wi' the buddin breast, her that's tinklin on the triangle 
that surely maun be o' silver, sae dewy sweet the soun' ! 
Safe us, only look at the auld man and his wife ! There's 
mony a comical auld woman in Scotland, especially in the 
Heelans, but I never saw the match o' that ane. She maun 
be mony hunder year auld, and yet her petticoats as short aa 
a play-actress dancin on the stage. Gude legs too — thin 
ankles, and a thick calve — girl, wife, and witch a' in ane ; 
and only think o't, — -playin on a base drum ! Savyaurds I 
It'll be a mountainous kintra theirs, for sic a lang-backed, 
short-thee'd, sinewy and muscular, hap-and-stap-jump o' a 
bouncin body as that man o' hers, wi' the swarthy face and 
head harlequinaddin on the Pan's-pipes, could never hae been 
bred and born on a flat — But whish — whish — they're be- 
ginning to play something pathetic ! 

Tickler. Music is the universal lansrua^e. 

Shepherd. It's a lament that the puir wandering creturs 
are singin and playin about their native land. I Wush I 
may hae ony change in my pocket — 

Tickler. They are as happy in their own way as we are in 
ours, my dear James. May they find their mountain cottage 
unharmed by wind or weather on their return, and let us join 
our little subscription — 

Shepherd. There's a five-shillin crown-piece for mine. 

North. And mine. 

Tickler. And mine. 

Shepherd. I'll gie't to them. — (Shepherd leaps out.}^ 
There, my bonny bloomin brunette wi' the raven hair, that 
are just perfectly beutifu', wanderin wi' your melody hame- 
less but happy ; and may nae hand untie its snood till your 
bridal night in the hut on the hill, when the evening 
marriafre dance and song are hushed and silent, and love 



The Scotch Puppy. 91 

and innocence in their lawfu' delight lie in each other's arms. 
— If your sweetheart's a shepherd, so am I — 

Tickler. Hallo, Hogg — no whispering, liere, give each 
of them a tumbler of punch, and God be with the joyous 
Savoyards. 

Shepherd. Did you see, sirs, hoo desperate thirsty they a' 
were — nae wonner, singin frae morn to night a' up and doun 
the dusty streets and squares. Yet they askt for naething, 
contented creturs ! — Hear till them singin awa doun the 
avenue "God save the King," in compliment to us and our 
country. A weel-timed interlude this, Mr. North, and it has 
putten me in a gran' mood for a sang. 

North and Tickler. A sono- — a sonj^ — a sons: ! 

(Shepherd sings " My bonnie Mary.") 

Tickler. Scotch and English puppies make a striking con- 
trast. The Scotch puppy sports philosophical, and sets to 
rights Locke, Smith, Stewart, and Reid. In his minority 
he is as solemn as a major of two-score — sits at table, even 
during dinner, with an argumentative face, and in a logical 
position — and gives out his sentences deliberately, as if he 
were making a payment in sovereigns. 

Shepherd. Oh, man, how I do hate sic formal young chiels 
— ^reason, reason, reasoning on things that you maun see 
whether you will or no, even gin you were to shut your een 
wi' a' your force, and then cover them wi' a bandage, — chiels 
that are employed frae morning to nicht coUeckin facks 
out o' books, in that dark, dirty dungeon, the Advocates' 
Leebrary, and that'll no hesitate, wi' a breach o' a' gude 
manners, to correct your verra chronology when you're in 
the middle o' a story that may hae happened equally weel 
ony day frae the flood to the last judgment — chiels that 
quote Mr. Jeffrey and Hairy Cobrun, and even on their 
first Introduction to Englishers, keep up a clatter about the 



92 The Castle of Indolence. 

Ooter House — cliiels that think it a great maitter to spoot 
aff by heart an oraution on the corn laws, in that puir puckit 
Gogotha, the Speculative Society, and treat you, ower the 
nits and prunes, wi' skreeds o' College Essays on Syllogism, 
and what's ca'd the Association o' Ideas — chiels that would 
rather be a Judge o' the Court o' Session than the Great 
Khan o' Tartary himsel — and look prouder when taking 
their forenoon's airing alang Princes Street, on a bit shachlin* 
ewe-necked powney, coft frae a sportin flesher, than Saladin, 
at the head of ten thousand chosen chivalry, shaking the 
desert — chiels — 

North. Stop, James — ^just look at Tickler catching flies. 
Shepherd. Sound asleep, as I'm a Contributor. Oh ! man 
— I wush we had a saut herrin to put intil the mooth o' 
him, or a burned cork to gie him mistashies, or a string o' 
ingans to fasten to the nape o' his neck by way o' a pigtail, 
or — 

North. Shamming Abraham. 

Shepherd. Na — he's in a sort o' dwam — and nae wonner, 
for the Lodge is just a very Castle o' Indolence. Thae broad 
vine leaves hingin in the veranda in the breathless heat, or 
stirrin when the breeze sughs by, like water-lilies tremblin 
in the swell o' the blue loch-water, inspire a dreamin somno- 
lency that the maist waukrifef canna a'thegither resist ; and 
the bonny twilight, chequering the stane floor a' round and 
round the shady Lodge, keeps the thochts confined witliin 
its glimmerin boundaries, till every cause o' disturbance is 
afar off, and the life o' man gets tranquil as a wean's rest in 
its cradle, or amang the gowans on a sunny knowe ; sae let 
us speak lown and no wauken him, for he's buried in the 
umbrage o' imagination, and weel ken I what a heavenly thing 
It is to soom doun the silent stream o' that haunted world. 

• Shachlin—'AwwVimg. f TFatiAT«/t?— watcbfal. 



A Portrait of Tickler. 93 

North. What say you to that smile on his face, James ? 

Shepherd. It's a gey wicked ane — I'm thinkin he's after 
some mischief. I'll put this raisin-stalk up his nose. Mercy 
on us, what a sneeze ! 

Ticlder. ( starting and looking round ). Ha ! Hogg, my 
dear fellow, how are you ? Soft — soft — I have it — why, that 
hotchpotch, and that afternoon sun — 

Ni.rth. James, now that you have seen us in summer, how 
do you like the Lodge ? 

Shepherd. There's no sic anither house, Mr. North, baith 
for elegance and comfort, in a' Scotland. 

North. In my old age, James, I think myself not altogether 
unentitled to the luxuries of learned leisure. — Do you find 
that sofa easy and commodious ? 

Shepherd. Easy and commodious ! what ! it has a' the saf t- 
ness o' a bed, and a' the coolness o' a bank ; yielding rest 
without drowsiness, and without snoring repose. 

Ticlder. No sofa like a chair ! See, James, how I am ly- 
ing and sitting at the same time ! carelessly diffused, yet — ■ 

Shepherd. You're a maist extraordinary feegur, Mr. Tick- 
ler, I humbly confess that, wi' your head imbedded in a cush- 
ion, and your een fixed on the roof like an astronomer ; 
and your endless legs stretched out to the extremities o' the 
yeaith ; and your lang arms hanging down to the verra 
floor, atower the bend o' the chair-settee, and only lift up, wi' a 
magnificent wave, to bring the bottom o' the glass o' cauld 
punch to rest upon your chin ; and wi' that tamboured waist 
coat o' the fashion o' aughty-aught, like a meadow yellow 
wi' dandylions ; and breeks — 

Tickler. Check your hand, and change your measure, my 
dear Shepherd. — Oh ! for a portrait of North ! 

Shepherd. I daurna try't, for his ee masters nie ; and 1 
fear to tak the same leeberties wi' Mr. North that I sometimes 



9i The Shores of the Firth. 

venture upon wi' you, Mr. Tickler. Yet, oli, man ! I like 
him weel in that black neckercliief ; it brings out his face 
grandly — and the green coat o' the Royal Archers gies him 
a Robiu-Hoodish character, that makes ane's imagination 
think o' the umbrage o' auldoaks, and the glimmering silence 
o' forests. 

Tickler. He blushes. 

Shepherd. That he does — and I like to see the ingenuous 
blush o' bashfu' modesty on a wrinkled cheek. It proves 
that the heart's-blood is warm and free, and the circulation 
vigorous. Deil tak me, Mr. North, if I dinna think you're 
something like his Majesty the King. 

North. I am proud that you love the Lodge. There ! a 
bold breeze from the sea ! Is not that a pleasant rustle, 
James ? — and lo ! every sail on the Firth is dancing on the 
blue bosom of the waters, and brightening like sea-mews in 
the sunshine ! 

Shepherd. A.fter a', in het wather, there's naething like a 
marine villa. What for dinna ye big * a Yott ? 

North. My sailing days are over, James ; but mine is now 
the ship of Fancy, who can go at ten knots in a dead calm, 
and carry her sky-scrapers in a storm. 

Shepherd. Nae wonder, after sic a life o' travel by sea and 
land, you should hae found a lianie at last, and sic a hame ! 
A' the towers, and spires, and pillars, and pinnacles, and 
bewilderments o' blue house-roofs, seen frae the tae front 
through amang the leafy light o' interceptin trees — and frae 
the tither, where we are noo sitting, only here and there a 
bit sprinklin o' villas, and then atower the grove-heads, seem- 
ing sae thick and saft that you think you might lie down on 
them and tak a sleep, the murmuring motion o' the never 
weary sea ! Oh, Mr. North, that you would explain to me 
tlie nature o' the tides ! 



Tickler s Experience of Gliosis. 95 

North. When the moon — 

Shepherd. Stap, stap; I couldna command my attention 
wi' yon bonny brig hiiggin the shores o' Inchkeith* sae lov- 
ingly — at first I thocht she was but a breakin wave. 

North. Wave, cloud, bird, sunbeam, shadow or ship — often 
know I not one from the other, James, when half-sleeping, 
half-waking, in the debateable and border land between re- 
alities and dreams, — 

" My weary length at noontide would I sti-etch, 
And muse upon the world that wavers by." 

Tickler. I never had any professed feeling of the swper or 
■preter-Ti2ii\xTdl in a printed book. Very early in life I dis- 
covered that a ghost, wdio had kept me in a cold sweat during 
a whole winter's midnight, was a tailor who haunted the 
house, partly through love, and partly through hunger, being 
enamored of my nurse, and of the fat of ham which she 
gave him with mustard, betw^een two thick shavesf of a quar- 
tern loaf, and afterwards a bottle of small beer to wash it 
dowm, before she yielded him the parting kiss. After that I 
slept soundly, and had a contempt for ghosts, which I retain 
to this day. 

Shepherd. Weel, it's very different wi' me. I should be 
feared yet even for the ninth pairt o' a ghost, and I fancy a 
tailor has nae mair ; — ^but I'm no muckle affeckit by reading 
about them — an oral tradition out o' the mouth o' an auld 
grey-headed man or woman is far best, for then you canna 
dout the truth o' the tale, unless ye dout a' history thegither, 
and then, to be sure, you'll end in universal skepticism. 

North. Don't you admire the romances of the Enchantress 
of Udolpho ? 

Shepherd. Ihaenae doubt, sir, that had I read Udolpho and 
•her ither romances in my boyish days, that my hair would 
* An island in the Firth of Forth, near Edinburgh. t 5Aove3— slicos 



96 The Shej.)herd on Grhosts, 

hae stood on end like that o' ither folk, for, by nature and 
education baith, ye ken, I'm just excessive superstitious. 
But afore her volumes fell into my hauns, my soul had been 
frightened by a' kinds of traditionary terrors, and mony 
lumder times hae I maist swarfed * vvi' fear in lonesome spats 
ill muirs and woods, at midnicht, when no a leevin thing was 
movin but mysel and the great moon. Indeed, I canna say 
that I ever fan' mysel alane in the hush o' darkened nature, 
without a beatin at my heart ; for a sort o' spiritual preseiice 
aye hovered about me — a presence o' something like and 
unlike my ain being — at times felt to be solemn and nae 
mair — at times sae awfu' that I wushed mysel nearer ingle- 
licht — and ance or twice in my lifetime, sae terrible that I 
could hae prayed to sink down into the moss, sae that I 
micht be saved frae the quaking o' that ghostly wilderness 
o' a world that wasna for flesh and bluid ! 

North. Look — James — look — what a sky ! 

Shepherd. There'll be thunder the morn. These are the 
palaces o' the thunder, and before daybreak every window 
will pour forth lichtuin. Mrs. Radcliffe has weel described 
mony sic, but I have seen some that can be remembered, 
but never, never painted by mortal pen ; for after a', what is 
ony description by us puir creturs o' the works o' the Great 
God? 

North. Perhaps it is a pity that Mrs. Radcliffe never in- 
troduced into her stories any real ghosts. 

Shepherd. I canna just a'thegither think sae. Gin you 
introduce a real ghost at a', it maun appear but seldom-— 
seldom, and never but on some great or dread account — as 
the ghost o' Hamlet's father. Then, what difficulty in makin 
it speak with a tomb voice ! At the close o' the tale, the 
mind would be shocked unless the dead had burst its cere- 

* Sioarfed — swooned. 



The Shepherd on Ghosts. 97 

nients for some end which the dead alane could have accom- 
plished — unless the catastrophe were worthy an Apparition. 
How few events and how few actors would, as the story shut 
itself up, be felt to have be6n of such surpassing moment as 
to have deserved the very laws o' nature to have been in a 
manner changed for their sakes, and shadows brought frae 
amang the darkness o' burial-places, that seem to our 
imaginations locked up frae a' communion wi' the breathin 
world ! 

North, In highest tragedy, a Spirit may be among the 
dramatis personce — for the events come all on processionally, 
and under a feeling of fate. 

Shepherd. There, too, you see the ghost ; and indifferently 
personated though it may be, the general hush proves that 
religion is the deepest principle o' our nature, and that even 
the vain shows o' a theatre can be sublimed by an awe-struck 
sadness, when, revisiting the glimpses o' the moon, and makin 
night hideous, comes glidin in and awa in cauld unringin 
armor, or unsubstantial vapor, a being whose eyes ance saw 
the cheerfu' sunlight, and whose footsteps ance brought out 
echoes frae the flowery earth. 

Tickler. James, be done with your palavering about ghosts, 
and " gie us anither sang." 

North. Come, I will sing you one of Allan's. 

Shepherd. Huts, ye never sung a sang i' your life — at least 
never that I heard tell o' ; — but, to be sure, you're a maist 
extraordinary cretur, and can do onything you hae a mind to 
try. 

North. My voice is rather cracked and tremulous — but I 
have sung Scotch airs, James, of old, with Urbani. {Sings 
" My ain countree.") 

Shepherd. Weel, I never heard the like o' that in a' my 
days. Deevil tak me gin there be sic a perfectly beautiful 



98 G-ood Night. 



sino-er in a' Scotland. I prefer you to baith Peter Hill and 
David Wylie, * and twa bonnier singers you'll no easier hear 
in " house or ha', by coal or candle licht." But do you ken, 
I'm desperate sleepy. 

Tickler. Let's off to roost. 

North. Stop till I ring for candles. 

Shepherd. Cawnels ! and sic a moon ! It wad be perfect 
blasphemy — dounricht atheism. But hech, sirs, it's het, an' 
I'se sleep without the sark the nicht. 

North. Without a sark, James ! " a mother-naked man ! " 

Shepherd. I'm a bachelor, ye ken, the noo, sae can tak my 
ain way o't — Gude nicht, sir — gude nicht. We've really 
been verra pleasant, and our meetin has been maist as agree- 
able as ane o' the 

NocTES Ambrosian^. 

* Peter Hill is spoken of in the " Chaldee MS." as "a sweet singer." 
David Wylie was one of the circuit clerks of the Court of Justiciary. 



VIII. 

IN WHICH THE SHEPHERD IS HANGED AND BE- 

HEADED. 

Mr. Tickler's smaller Dining-room — Soutkside. 
Shepherd. — Mr. North. — Mr. Tickler. 

Shepherd. We've just had a perfec denner, Mr. Tickler — 
neither ae dish ower mony, nor ae dish ower few. Twa 
coorses is aneuch for ony Christian — and as for frute after 
fude, it's a dounricht abomination, and coagulates on the 
stamach like sour cruds. I aye like best to devoor frute in 
the forenoons, in gardens by mysel, daunering* at my leisure 
frae bush to bush, and frae tree to tree, pu'in avva at straw- 
berries, or rasps, or grozets, or cherries, or aipples, or peers, 
or plooms, or aiblins at young green peas, shawps f an' a', or 
wee juicy neeps, that melt in the mouth o' their ain accord 
without chewin, like kisses of vegetable maitter. 

Tickler. Do you ever catch a tartar, James, in the shape 
o' a wasp, that — 

Shepherd. Counfound thae deevils incarnate, for they're the 
curse o' a het simmer. O' a' God's creturs, the wasp is the 
only ane that's eternally out o' temper. There's -nae sic 
thing as pleasin him. In the gracious sunshine, when a' the 
bit bonny burdies are singing sae cantily, and stopping for 
half a minute at a time, noo and than, to set richt wi' their 

• Daunermo— saunteri t Shaiops—hMaka. 

99 



/ 



100 A SJioiver of Wasps. 

bills a feather that's got rumpled by sport or spray — when 
the bees are at wark, murmuring in their gauzy flight, 
althouo-li no gauze, indeed, be comparable to the filaments o' 
their woven wings, or clinging silently to the flowers, sook, 
sookin out the hinny-dew, till their verra doups dirl wi' delight 
— when a' the flees that are ephemeral, and weel contented 
wi' the licht and the heat o' ae single sun, keep dancin in 
their burnished beauty, up and down, and to and fro, and 
backwards and forwards, and sideways, in millions upon 
millions, and yet ane never joistling anither, but a' har- 
moniously blended together in amity, like imagination's 
thochts, — why, amid this " general dance and minstrelsy," in 
comes a shower o' infuriated wasps, red het, as if let out o' a 
fiery furnace, pickin quarrels wi' their ain shadows — then roun' 
and roun' the hair o' your head, bizzin against the drum o' 
your ear, till you think they are in at the ae hole and out at 
the ither — ^back again, after makin a circuit, as if they had 
repentit o' lettin you be unharmed, dashing against the face 
o' you who are wishin ill to nae leevin thing, and, although 
you are engaged out to dinner, stickin a lang poishoned stang 
in just below your ee, that, afore you can rin hame frae the 
garden, swalls up to a fearsome hicht, making you on that 
side look like a Blackamoor, and on the opposite white as 
death, sae intolerable is the agony frae the tail of the yellow 
imp, that, according to his bulk, is stronger far than the 
Dragon o' the Desert. 

Tickler. I detest the devils most, James, when I get them 
in my mouth. Before you can spit them out the evil is 
done — your tongue the size of that of a rein-deer — or your 
gullet, once wide as the Gut of Gibraltar, clogged up like a 
canal in the neighborhood of a railroad. 

Shepherd. As for speaking in sic a condition, everybody 
but yoursel kens it's impossible, and gunner to hear ye 



The Shepherd Hanged. 101 

tryin't. But you'll no be perswauded, and attempt talking— 
every motion o' the muscles bein' as bad as a convulsion o' 
]]ydrophobia, and the best soun' ye can utter waur than ony 
oaik, something atween a grunt, a growl, and a guller, like 
the skraich o' a man lyin on his back, and dreamin that he's 
gaun to be hanged. 

Tickler. My dear James, I hope you have had that dream r 
What a luxury ! 

Shepherd. There's nae medium in my dreams, sir — heaven 
or hell's the word. But oh ! that hanging ! It's the warst 
job o' a', and gars my very sowl sicken wi' horror for sake o' 
the puir deevils that's really hanged out and out, hondjide^ 
wi' a tangible tow, and a hangman that's mair than a mere 
apparition — a pardoned felon wi' creeshy second-hand cordu- 
roy breeks, and coat short at the cuffs, sae that his thick hairy 
wrists are visible when he's adjustin the halter, hair red, red, 
yet no sae red as his bleared een, glarin wi' an unaccountable 
fairceness — for, Lord hae mercy upon us, can man o' woman 
born, think ye, be fairce on a brither when handlin his wizen * 
as executioner, and hearin, although he was deaf, the knock- 
in o' his distracted heart, that wadna break for a' its meesery, 
but, like a watch stoppin when it gets a fa' on the stanes, in 
ae minute lies quate when down wi' a rummle gangs the plat- 
form o' the scaffold, and the soul o' the son o' sin and sorrow 
is instantly in presence of its eternal Judge ! 

North. Pleasant subject-matter for conversation after 
dinner, gentlemen. In my opinion, hanging — 

Shepherd. Hand your tongue about hangin ; it's discussed. 
Gin you've got onything to say about beheadin, let's hear you 
— ^for I've dreamt o' that, too, but it was a mere flee-bite to 
the other mode o' execution. Last time I was beheaded, it 
was for a great National Conspiracy, found out just when 

* Wizen— the throat. 



102 TJie Shepherd Beheaded. 

the mine was gaun to explode, and blaw up the King on his 
throne, the constitution, as it was ca'd, and the Kirk. Do ye 
want to hear about it ? 

North. Proceed, you rebel. 

Shepherd. A' the city sent out its population into ae michty 
square, and in the midst thereof was a scaffold forty feet high, 
a' hung wi' black cloth, and open to a' the airts.* A block 
like a great anvil, only made o' wood instead o' airn, was in 
the centre o' the platform, and there stood the headsman wi' 
a mask on, for he was frichtened I wad see his face, sax feet 
high and some inches, wi' an axe ower his shouther, and his 
twa naked arms o' a fearsome thickness, a' crawlin wi' sinews, 
like a yard o' cable to the sheet-anchor o' a man-o'-war. A 
hairy fur cap towered aboon his broos, and there were neither 
shoes nor stockings on his braid splay feet, juist as if he were 
gaun to dance on the boards. But he never mudged — only 
I saw his een rollin through the vizor, and they were baith 
bloodshot. He gied a gruesome cough, or something not 
unlike a lauch, that made ice o' my bluid ; and at that verra 
minute, hands were laid on me, I kentna by whom or whither, 
and shears began clipping my hair, and fingers like leeches 
creeped about my neck, and then, without ony further vio- 
lence, but rather as in the freedom o' my ain wull, my head 
was lying on the block, and I heard a voice praying, till a 
drum drowned it and the groans o' the multitude together — 
and then a hissin, that, like the sudden east wind, had moved 
the verra mournins o' the scaffold. 

Tickler. North, put about the bottle. Will you never be 
cured of that custom of detaining the crystals ? 

North. I am rather squeamish — a little faintish or so. 
James, your good health. Now proceed. 

Shepherd. Damn their drums, thocht I, they're needless— 

* Airts — points of tlie compass. 



Sis Speech on the Scaffold. lOB 

for had I intended to make a speech, would I not have deliv 
ered it afore I laid down my head on the block? As for the 
hissin, I kent weel aneuch they werena hissin me, but the 
Man in the mask and the big hairy fur-cap, and the naked 
feet, wi' the axe in his hands raised up, and then let down 
again, ance, twice, thrice, measuring the spat on my craig '* 
to a nicety, that wi' ae stroke my head might roll over into 
tlie bloody sawdust. 

Tickler. Mr. North, Mr. North — my dear sir, are you ill ? 
My God, who could have thought it ! — Hogg, Christopher 
has fainted ! 

Shepherd. Let him faint. The executioner was daunted, 
for the hiss gaed through his heart ; and thae horrid arms o' 
his, wi' a' their knots o' muscle, waxed weak as the willow- 
wands. The axe fell out o' his hauns, and being sharp, its 
ain wecht drove it quivering into the block, and close to my 
ear the verra senseless wud gied a groan. ' I louped up on to 
my feet — I cried wi' a loud voice, " Countrymen, I stand here 
for the sacred cause of Liberty all over the world! " 

North {reopening his eyes). "The cause of Liberty all over 
the world ! " Who gave that toast ? Hush — ^hush — wliere 
am I ? What is this ? Is that you, James ? What, music ? 
Bagpipes ? No — no — no — a ringing in my poor old ears. I 
have been ill — I feel very, very ill. Hark you, Tickler — • 
hark you — no heeltaps, I suppose — " The cause of Liberty 
all over the world ! " 

Shepherd. The shouting was sublime. Then was the time 
for a speech — not a drum dared to murmur. With the ban- 
dage still ower my een, and the handkerchief in my hand, 
which I had forgotten to drap, I burst out into such a torrent 
of indignant eloquence that the Slaves and Tyrants were all 
tongue-tied, lock-jawed, before me ; and I knew that my voica 

* Craig— nQok. 



104 The Scene at the Execution. 

would echo to the furthermost regions of the earth, with fear 
of change perplexing monarchs, and breaking the chains of 
the shameful bondage by king and priestcraft wound round 
the Body Politic, that had so long been lying like a heart- 
stricken lunatic under the eyes of his keepers, but that would 
now issue forth from the dungeon gloom into the light of day, 
and in its sacred frenzy immolate its grey oppressors on the 
very altar of superstition. 

North. What the devil is the meaning of all this, James ? Ai'e 
you spouting a gill of one of Brougham's frothy phials of wrath 
poured out against»the Holy Alliance ? Beware of the dregs. 

Shepherd. I might have escaped — but I was resolved to 
cement the cause with my martyred blood. I was not a man 
to disappoint the people. They had come there to see me 
die — not James Hogg the Ettrick Shepherd — but Hogg the 
Liberator ; and from my blood, I felt assured, would arise 
millions of armed men, under whose tread would sink the 
thrones of ancient dynasties, and whose hands would unfurl 
to all the winds the standard of Freedom, never again to en 
circle the staff till its dreadful rustling had quailed the kings, 
even as the mountain sough sends down upon their knees 
whole herds of cattle, ere rattles from summit to summit the 
exulting music of the thunderstorm. 

Tickler. Isn't he a wonderful creature, North ? He beats 
Brouo:ham all to besoms. 

Shepherd. So once more my head was on the block — the 
axe came down — and I remember nothing more, except that 
after bouncing several times about the scaffold, it was taken 
up by that miserable slave of slaves, who muttered, " Behold 
the head of a traitor ! " Not a voice said Amen — and I had 
my revenge and my triumph ! 

North. Strange, so true a Tory should be so revolutionary 
in his dreams ! 



'' The Gruse-dnhs d Gla^goioT 105 

TicMer. Ill France, James would have been Robespierre. 

Shepherd. Huts ! tuts ! Dreams gang by the rule o' con- 
traries. Yet I dinna say what I might hae been during the 
French Revolution. At times and seasons the nature o' the 
very brute animals is no to be depended on ; and how muckle 
uiair changeable is that o' man, wi' his boasted reason look- 
ing before and after — his imagination building up, and his 
passions pu'in down ; ae day a loving angel frae heaven — 
the next a demon o' destruction let loose frae hell ! But 
wasna ye there yoursel, Mr. North ? What for no speak ? 
There's naebody here but freeus ! 

TicMer. Remember, James, that our beloved Christopher 
fainted a few minutes ago — 

Shepherd. Sae he did — sae he did. . . . But was ye ever 
in the Guse-dubs o' Glasgow ? Safe us a ' ! what clarty 
closses, narrowin awa' and darkenin douu — some stracht, and 
some serpentine — into green middens o' baith liquid and solid 
matter, soomin' wi' dead cats and auld shoon, and rags o' 
petticoats that had been worn till they fell aff and wad wear 
nae 1 anger. 

TicMer. Hear ! hear ! hear ! 

Shepherd. Dive down anither close, and you hear a man 
murderin his wife up-stairs in a garret. A' at ance flees open 
the door at the stair-head, and the mutchless mawsey, a' 
dreepin wi' bluid, flings herself frae the tap step o' the flicht 
to the causeway, and into the nearest change-house, roaring 
in rage and terror — twa emotions that are no canny when 
they chance to forgather — and ca'in for a constable to tak 
baud o' her gudeman, who has threatened to ding out her 
brains wi' a hammer, or cut her throat wi' a razor. 

North. What painting, Tickler ! What a Salvator is our 
Shepherd ! 

Shepherd. Down anither close, and a battle o' dowgs ! A 



106 A Battle of " Dowgsr 

bull-dowg and n mastiff! The great big brown mastift 
moiithin the bull-dowg by the verra hainches, as if to crunch 
his back, and the wee white bull-dowg never seemin to fash 
his thoomb, but stickin by the regular-set teeth o' his under- 
hung jaw to the throat o' the mastiff, close to the jugular, 
and no to be drawn aff the grip by twa strong baker-boya 
pu'in at the tail o' the tane, and twa strong butcher-bo;ys 
pu'in at the tail o' the tither — for the mastiff's maister be- 
gins to fear that the veeper at his throat will kill him out- 
right, and offers to pay a' betts and confess his dowg has 
lost the battle. But the crood wush to see the fecht out — 
and harl the dowgs, that are noo worryin ither without ony 
growlin — ^baith silent, except a sort o' snortin through the 
nostrils, and a kind o' guller in their gullets — I say, the crood 
harl them out o' the midden, ontil the stanes again — and 
" Weel dune, Caesar." — " Better dune, Yeeper." — " A mutch- 
kin to a gill on wliitey." — " The muckle ane canna fecht." — 
" See how the wee bick is worryin him now by a new spat 
on the thrapple." — " He wad rin awa gin she wad let him 
loose." — " She's just like her mither, that belanged to the 
caravan o' wild beasts." — " Oh man, Davie, but I wud like to 
get a breed out o' her, by the watch-dowg at Bell-meadow 
Bleachfield, that killed, ye ken, the Kilmarnock carrier's Help 
in twunty minutes, at Kingswell — " 

North. Stop, James, your mine is inexhaustible. But here 
goes for a chant. (Sings " The Humors of Donnybrook Fair.") 

Shepherd. The like o' that was never heard in this warld 
afore. The brogue as perfec as if you had been born and 
bred in the boo- o' Allen ! How muckle better this kind o* 
weel-timed daffin, that aye gangs on here at Southside, than 
literary and philosophical conversation, and criticism on the 
fine arts, and polemical discussion wi' red faces and fiery een 
on international policy, and the corn laws and surplus popu- 



Tlie Shepherd in a Shoiver-Bath. 107 

latioiij and havers about Free Tread ! Was ye in the shower- 
bath the day, Mr. Tickler ? 

Tickler. Yes, James — do you take it ? 

Shepherd. I hae never yet had courage to pu' the string. 
In I gang and shut the door on mysel — and tak baud o' the 
string very gently, for the least rug 'ill bring down the 
squash like the Falls of the Clyde ; and I look up to the 
machine, a' pierced wi' so many water-holes, and then I shut 
my een and my mouth like grim death, and then I let gae 
the string, and, gruin a' the time, try to whistle ; and then I 
agree to allow myself a respite till I count fifty ; and neist 
begin to argue wi' my ain conscience, that the promise I 
had made to mysel to whumle the splash-cask was only be- 
tween it and me, and that the M^arld will ken naething about 
the matter if I come out again re infectd ; and, feenally, 1 
step out as cautiously as a thief frae a closet, and set myself 
down in the arm-chair, beside the towel warming at the fire, 
and tak up the Magazine, and peruse, perhaps, ane o' the 
'' Noctes Ambrosiana3," till I'm like to split wi' lauchin at 
my ain wut, forgetting a' the time that the door's no locked, 
and what a figure I wud present to ony o' the servant lasses 
that miclit happen to come in lookin for naething, or to some 
collegian or contributor, come out frae Embro' during the 
vacance to see the Ettrick Shepherd. But I canna help 
thinkin, Mr. Tickler, for a' your lauchin, that in a like predic- 
ament you would be a mair ridiculous mortal than mysel- — 
But what are ye thinking on, Mr. North ? I dinna believe 
ye hae heard a word o' what I've been saying — but it's your 
ain loss. 

North' Here's a copy of fine verses, James, but every line 
seems written twice over — how is that? 

Shepherd. I never could tell how that happens — ^but miga 
every ither line, and a' will be right. 



108 An Optical Delusion. 

Tickler. I have observed that at night, after supper, with 
ships at sea. Two ships of the line! not one ship and one 
frigate — but two eighty-fours. Shut one eye, and there at 
anchor lies, let us say, the Bellerophon — for I am speaking 
of tiie olden time. Open the other, and behold two Bel- 
lerophons riding at anchor. Optics, as a science, are all very 
well, but they can't explain that mystery — not they, and be 
hanged to them — ask Whewell or Airy. But, North, the 
verses ! 

Shepherd. There's nae mair certainty in mathematical 
science than in sheep-shearing. The verses ! 

Tickler. The stanzas seem to me to be sixteen lines each, 
but I will divide them by two, which gives eight 
verses ! 

North. Well, well, James, if you think the Magazine's not 
fallinor off — 

Shepherd. Mr. Tickler, man, I canna stay ony langer — ^ye 
see Mr. North's gotten unco fou, and T maun accompany him 
in the cotch down to Buchanan Lodge — shall I ? 

North. Hogg, as to that, if you don't care about the calcu- 
lation; for as to the Apocrypha, and so on, if the Bible 
Society pay four hundred a year, really the Christian Instructor 
— hip — hip — hip ! — Why, Hogg, ye see — the fools are — 
hurra — hurra — hurra ! 

Shepherd. Oh, Mr. Tickler, North's gotten a mouthful' o' 
fresh air when you opened the window, and is as fou's the 
Baltic. But I'll see him hame. The cotch, the cotch, the 
cotch — dinna dint the pint o' your crutch into my mstep, Mr. 
North — there, there — steady, steady — the cotch, the cotch* 
Gude mornin. Tickler — what a moon and stars ! 

North. Surely Ambrose has made some alteration in his 
house lately. I cannot make out this room at all. It is not 
fche Blue Parlor ? 



One Coach— or Two? 109 

Shepherd. We're at Southsicle, sir — we're at Southside, sir 
—perfectly sober ane and a' ; but dinna be alarmed, sir, if 
you see twa cotches at the door, for we're no gaun to sepa- 
rate — there's only ane, believe me — and I'll tak a hurl wi' ye 
as far's the Harrow. 



IX. 

IN THE PAPER PARLOR. 

Scene — Ambrose's Hotel^ Plcardy Place — Paper Parlor, 

Shepherd. — North. — Tickler. 

Shepherd. Do you ken, Mr. North, that I'm beginning to 
like this snug wee roomy in Mr. Awmrose's New Hotel maist 
as weel's the Blue Parlor in the dear auld tenement ? 

North, Ah, no, my dear James, none of us will ever be able 
to bring our hearts to do that ; to us, Gabriel's Road will aye 
be holy and haunted ground. George Cooper * is a fine 
fighter and a civil landlord, but I cannot look on his name on 
that door without a pensive sigh ! Mr. Ambrose's worthy 
brother has moved, you know, upstairs, and I hobble in upon 
him once a fortnight for auld langsyne. 

Shepherd. I af ten wauken greetin f f rae a dream about that 
dear, dear tenement. " But what's the use o' sighing, since 
Life is on the wing?" and but for the sacredness o' a' thae 
recollections, this house — this hotel — is in itsel jDreferable, 
perhaps, to our ancient howf. 

North. Picardy is a pleasant place, and our host is pros* 
perous. No house can be quieter and more noiseless. 

* George Cooper, a respectable man, although a pugilist, succeeded 
Ajnbrose in Gabriel's Road. 
t GreeiiJi— weeping. 
110 



Voices of the Night. Ill 

Shepherd. That's a great maitter. You'll recollect me ance 
lodging in Anne Street,"* noo nae langer in existence, — a 
steep street, ye ken, rinnin down alang the North Brig toward 
where the New Markets are, but noo biggit up wi' a' thae 
new buildings — 

North. That I do, James. 'Twas there, up a spiral stone 
staircase, in a room looking towards the Castle, that first I 
saw my Shepherd's honest face, and first I ate along with 
him cod's head and shoulders. 

Shepherd. We made a nicht o't wi' twa dear freens ; f — ane 
o' them at this hour in Ettrick, and the ither ower the saut 
seas in India, an Episcopalian chaplain. 

North. But let's be merry, James. Our remembrances are 
getting too tender. 

Shepherd. What I was gaun to say was this, — that yon 
room, quate X as it seemed, was aften the maist infernally 
noisy chawmer on the face o' this noisy earth. It wasna far, 
ye ken, frae the playhouse. Ae wunter there was an after- 
piece ca'd the Burnin o' Moscow, that was performed maist 
every nicht. A while afore twal the Kremlin used to be 
bk wn up ; and the soun', like thunder, wauken'd a' the 
sleepin dowgs in that part o' the town. A' at ance there was 
set up siccan a barkin, and yellin, and youlin, and growlin, 
and nyaffin, and snaffin, and clankin o' chains frae them in 
kennels, that it was waur than the din o' aerial jowlers pur- 
suing the wild huntsman through the sky. Then cam the 
rattlin o' wheels, after Moscow was reduced to ashes, that 

* Tlie TTortli British Railway terminus is close to tlie site where Anne 
Street formerly stood. 

t Mr. Grieve of (]acra Bank, Ettrick, an Edinburgh merchant, and Mr. 
James Gray, one of the masters of the High School. The latter was an 
accomplished linguist. After leaving the High School, he held an appoint- 
ment in Belfast College, and died in India, in the service of the Church of 
England, while engaged in translating the Scriptures into one of the native 
dialects. X ^a^e— quiet. 



112 Voices of the Night. 

made the dowgs, especially the watch anes, mair outrageous 
than ever, and they keej^it rampaugin in their chains on till 
past twa in the mornin. About that hour, or sometimes 
suner, they had wauken'd a' the cocks in the neeborhood — 
baith them in preevate families and in poulterers' cavies ; 
and the creturs keepit crawin defiance to ane anither quite 
on to dawn o' liclit. Some butchers had ggem-cocks in pens 
no far f rae my lodgings ; and oh ! but the deevils incarnate 
had hoarse, fierce, cruel craws ! Neist began the dust and 
dung carts ; and whare the mail-coaches were gaun or comin 
frae, I never kent, but ilka half-hour there was a toutin o' 
horns — lang tin anes, I'm sure, frae the scutter o' broken- 
winded soun'. After that a' was din and distraction, for day- 
life begude * to roar again ; and aften hae I risen without 
ever having bowed an ee, and a' owing to the burnin o' 
Moscow and blawin up o' the Kremlin. 

North. Nothing of the sort can happen here. This must 
be a sleeping-house fit for a Sardauapalus. 

Shepherd. I'll try it this verra nicht. But what for tauk 
o' bedtime sae sune after denner? It's really a bit bonny 
parlor. 

North. What think you, James, of that pattern of a paper 
on the wall ? 

Shepherd. I was sae busily employed eatin durin denner, 
and sae muckle mair busier drinkin after denner, that, wull 
ye believe me when I say't, that gran' huntin-piece paperin 
the wa's never ance caught my een till this blessed moment ? 
O sirs, but it's an inspeeritin picture, and I wush I was but 
on horseback, following the hounds ! 

Tickler. The poor stag ! how his agonies accumulate and 
intensify in each successive stage of his doom, flying in dis- 
traction, like Orestes before the Furies ! 

* Begude — began. 



A German Romance. 113 

Shepherd. The stag ! confoun' me gin I see ony stag ! But 
yon's a lovely leddy — a Duchess — a Princess — or a Queen — ■ 
wha keeps aye crownin the career, look whaur you wull — 
there soomin* a ford like a Naiad — there plungin a Bird o' 
Paradise into the forest's gloom — and there, lo ! reappearing 
star-bright on the mountain brow ! 

JVorth. Few ladies look lovable on horseback. The 
bumping on their seat is not elegant ; nor do they mend the 
matter much when, by means of the crutch, they rise on the 
saddle like a postilion, buckskin breeches excepted. 

Tickler. The habit is masculine, and, if made by a country 
tailor, to ordinary apprehension converts a plain woman into 
a pretty man. 

Worth. No modest female should ever sport beaver. It 
gives her the bold air of a kept-mistress. 

Tickler. But what think you of her elbows, hard at work 
as those of little Tommy Lye, the Yorkshire Jockey, begin- 
ning to make play on a north-country horse in the Doncaster 
St. Leger when opposite the grand stand ! 

North. How engagingly delicate the virgin splattering 
along, whip in mouth, draggle-tailed, and with left leg bared 
to the knee-pan ! 

Shepherd. Tank awa — tank awa — ye twa auld revilers ; 
but let me hae anither glower o' my galloping goddess, 
gleaming gracefully through a green glade, in a' the glorious 
grimness of a grove of gigantic forest-trees ! 

Tickler. What a glutter o' gutturals ! 

Shepherd. Oh that some moss-hidden stump, like a snake in 
the grass, wud but gar her steed stumble, that she might 
saftly glide outower the neck before the solitary shepherd in 
a iiichter o' rainbow light, sae that I were by to come jookin 
out frae ahint an aik, like a Satyr, or rather the god Pan, and 

* Soomin — swimming. 



114 The Wood-Witch. 

ere her lovely limbs could in their disarray be veiled among 
the dim wood violets, receive into my arms and bosom — 
blessed burthen ! — the peerless Forest Queen ! 

North. gentle Shepherd ! — thou fond idolater ! — ^how 
canst thou thus in fancy burn with fruitless fires before the 
image of that beautiful cruelty, all athirst and a-wing for 
blood ? 

Shepherd. The love that starts up at the touch o' imagina- 
tion, sir, is o' mony million moods. — A beautiful Cruelty ! 
Thank you, Mr. North, for the poetic epithet. 

North. Such Shapes, in the gloom of forests, hunt for the 
50uls of men ! 

Shepherd. Wood-witch, or Dell-deevil, my soul would 
follow such a shape into the shades o' death. Let the 
Beautiful Cruelty wear murder on her face, so that something 
in her fierce eyeballs lure me to a boundless love. I see 
that her name is Sin ; and those figures in the rear, with 
black veils, are Remorse and Repentance. They beckon me 
back into the obscure wi' lean uplifted hands, and a bony 
shudder, as if each cadaver were a clanking skeleton ; but 
the closer I come to Sin, the farther awa and less distinct do 
they become ; and as I touch the hem o' her garment, where 
are they gone ? 

North. James, yon must have been studying the German 
Romances. But I see your aim — there is a fine moral — 

Tickler. Curse all German Romances. {Rings the hell 
violently.^ 

Shepherd. Ay, Mr. Tickler, just sae. You've brak the bell 
rope, ye see, wi' that outrageous jerk. "Wliat are yewantin? 

Tickler. A spitting-box. 

Shepherd. Hoots ! You're no serious in sayin your gaun 
to smoke already ? "Wait till after sooper. 

Tickler. No, no, James. T rang for our dear Christopher's 



TouihacJie. 11 o 

cushion. I saw, by the sudden twist that screwed up his 
chin, that his toe twinged. — Is the pain any milder now, sir ? 
Shepherd. Oh, sir ! oh, sir ! say that the pain's milder noo, 
sir ! — Oh dear me ! only to think o' your listenin to my stu- 
pid havers, and never betrayin the least uneasiness, or wish 
to interrupt me, and gaur me haud my tongue !- — Oh, sir 1 oh, 
sir ! say that the pain's milder noo, sir ! 

North. Wipe my brow, James, and let me have a glass of 
cold water. 

Shepherd. I'll wipe your broo. — Pity me — pity me — a' 
drappin wi' cauld sweat ! But ye maunna tak a single mouth- 
fu' o' cauld water. My dearest sir — its poishin for the gout — 
try a soup o' my toddy. There ! grasp the tummler wi' baith 
your hauns. Aff wi't — it's no Strang. — Arena ye better noo, 
sir? Isna the pain milder noo ? 

North. Such filial tenderness, my dear boy, is not lost on 
— oh ! gemini — that was the devil's own twinge ! 

Shepherd. What's to be dune ? What's to be dune ? Pity 
me, what's to be dune ? 

North. A single small glass, James, of the unchristened 
creature, my dear James. 

Shepherd. Ay, ay — that's like your usual sense. Here it's 
— open your mouth, and I'll administer the draught wi' my 
ain hauns. 

Tickler. See how it runs down his gizzern, his gizzern, his 
gizzern, see how it runs down his gizzern — ye ho ! ye ho ! 
ye ho I * 

North. Bless you, James — it is very reviving — continue to 
converse — you and Tickler — and let me wrestle a little ia 
silence with the tormentor. 

Shepherd. Wha wrote yon article in the Magazine on 
Captain Cleeas and Jymnastics ? 

* This is the fag-eiid of some old Bacchanalian ditty. 



116 Tickler in his Back-G-reen, 

Tichler. Jymnastics ! — James — if you love me — G hard. 
The other is the Cockney pronunciation. 

Shepherd. Weel, then, GGGhhymnastics ! "Wull that do? 

Tickler. I wrote the article. 

Shepherd. That's a damned lee. It was naebody else but 
Mr. North himsel. But what for didna he describe some o 
the fates * o' the laddies at the Edinburgh Military Academy 
on the Saturday afore their vacanse ! I never saw the match 
o' yon. 

Tickler. What tricks did the imps perform ? 

Shepherd. They werena tricks — they were fates. First, 
ane after anit^er took hand o' a transverse bar o' wud aboon 
their heads, and raised their chins ower't by the power o' their 
arms wi' a' the ease and elegance in the warld, and leanin 
ower't on their breasts, and then catching hand, by some un- 
accountable cantrip, o' the waistband o' their breeks, awa 
they set heels ower head, whirligig, whirligig, whirligig, wi' a 
smoke-jack velocity, that was perfectly confoundin, the laddie 
doin't being nae mair distinguishable in lith and limb, than 
gin he had been a bunch o' claes hung up to frichten craws 
in the fields within what's ca'd a wund-mill. 

Tickler. I know the exercise — and have often done it in 
my own back-green. 

Shepherd. Ha, ha, ha, ha ! What maun the neebors hae 
thought the first time they saw't, lookin out o' their wundows — 
or the second aither ? Ha, ha, ha, ha ! What a subject for 
a picture by Geordie Cruickshanks — ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! 

Tickler. Your laugh, Hogg, is coarse — it is offensive. 

Shepherd. Ha, ha, ha, ha ! My lauch may be coorse, 
Tickler, for there's naething superfine about me ; but to nae 
man o' common sense can it, on sic on occasion, be offensive. 
Ha, ha, ha, ha ! Oh dear me ! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, 

* Fa^cs— feats. 



Newhaven Fishivives. 117 

ha ! Lang Timothy whurlin round a cross-bar, up in the air 
amang the rowan-tree* taps, in his ain back-green at South- 
side ! ! ! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! I wush I mayna choke mysel. 

2Yckler. Sir, you are now a fit object of pity — not of anger 
or indignation. 

Shepherd. I'm glad o' that, for I hate to see ye angry, sir. 
[t gars ye look sae unco ugly — perfectly fearsome. 

North. It must indeed have been a pretty sight, James. 

Shepherd. Oh, Mr. North, is that your vice ? I am glad to 
see you've come roun'. 

North. What think ye, James, of this plan of supplying 
Edinburgh with living fish ? 

Shepherd. Gude or bad, it shall never hae my countenance. 
I couldna thole Embro without the fishwives, and gin it 
succeeded, it would be the ruin o' that ancient race. 

Tickler. Yes, James, there are handsome women among 
these Nereids. 

Shepherd. Weel-faured hizzies, Mr. Tickler. But nane o' 
your winks — for wi' a' their fearsome tank, they're dacent 
bodies. I like to see their well-shaped shanks aneath their 
short yellow petticoats. There's something heartsome in the 
creak o' their creeshy creels on their braid backs, as they 
gang swinging up the steyf streets without sweetin, with the 
leather belt atower their mutched heads, a' bent laigh doun 
against five-stane load o' haddocks, skates, cods, and flounders, 
like horses that never reestt — and oh, man, but monyo'them 
hae musical voices, and their cries afar aff make my heart- 
strings dirl. 

North. Hard-working, contented, cheerful creatures indeed, 
James, but unconscionable extortioners, and — 

* 'Jills rowan-tree, or mountain ash., still flourishes in the back-green of 
No. 20 George Square, formerly occupied by Mr. Eobert Sym. 
t Stcij—9,tee^. I Reest—gxovr restive. 



118 On the Road to Leith. 

Shepherd. Saw ye them ever marchin hamewards at nicht, 
in a baun o' some fifty or threescore, down Leith Walk, wi' 
the grand gas-lamps illuminating their scaly creels, all shining 
like silver ? And heard ye them ever singing their strange 
sea-sangs — first half-a-dizzen o' the bit young anes, wi' as saft 
Tices and sweet as you could hear in St George's Kirk on 
Sabbath, half singin and half shoutin a leadin verse, and then 
a' the mithers and granmithers, and aiblins great granmithers, 
some o' them wi' vices like verra men, gran' tenors and awfu' 
basses, joiniu in the chorus, that gaed echoing roun' Arthur's 
Seat, and awa ower the tap o' the Martello Tower, out at sea 
ayont the end o' Leith Pier ? "Wad ye believe me that the 
music micht be ca'd a hymn — at times sae wild and sae 
mournfu' — and then takin a sudden turn into a sort o' queer 
and outlandish glee ? It gars me think o' the saut sea-faem 
—and white mew-wings wavering in the blast — and boaties 
dancin up and down the billow vales, wi' oar or sail — and 
waes me — waes me — o' the puir fishing-smack, gaun down 
head fore^iost into the deep, and the sighin and the sabbin o' 
widows, and the wailin o' fatherless weans ! . . . 

North. You alluded, a little while ago, to the Quarterly 
Review, James. I have carefully preserved, among other 
relics of departed worth, the beautiful manuscript of the first 
article the new Editor * ever sent me. 

TicJder. In the Balaam-box ? 

Shepherd. Na, faith, Mr. Tickler, you may set up your gab 
noo ; but do you recollec how ye used to try to fleech and 
fiatter him, when he begood sharpening his keelivine pen, and 
tearing aff the back o' a letter to sketch a bit caricature o' 
Southside? Na — I've sometimes thocht, Mr. North, that ye 
were a wee feared for him yoursel, and used, rather without 

* John Gibson Lockhart, Esq., the late editor of the Q-uarterhj Revisu. 
Born in 1793 ; died in 1854. 



Troubles of an Editor. 119 

kennm't, to draw in vour horns. The Balaam-box, indeed ! 
Ma faith, had ye ventured on sic a step, ye micht just as weel 
at auce hae gien up the Magazine. 

North. James, that man never breathed, nor ever will 
breathe, for whose contributions to the Magazine I cared one 
single curse. 

Shepherd. Oh, man, Mr. North, dinna lose your temper, 
sir. What for do you get sae red in the face at a bit puir, 
harmless, silly joke — especially jow. that's sae vvutty and sae 
severe yoursel, sae sarcastic an fu' o' satire, and at times (the 
love o' truth chirts* it out o' me) sae like a sleuth-hound, sae 
keen on the scent o' human bluid ! Dear me ! mony a luck- 
less deevil, wi' but sma' provocation, or nane, Mr. North, hae 
ye worried. 

North. The Magazine, James, is the Magazine. 

Shepherd. Is't really ? I've nae mair to say, sir ; that 
oracular response removes a' diffeeculties, and settles the 
hash o' the maitter, as Pierce Eganf would say, at ance. 

North. Nothing but the purest philanthropy could ever have 
induced me, my dearest Shepherd, to suffer any contributors 
to the Magazine ; and I sometimes bitterly repent having ever 
departed from my original determination (long religiously 
adhered to) to write, proprio Marte, the entire miscellany. 

Shepherd. A' the world kens that — but whaur's the harm 
o' a few gude, sober, steady, judicious, regular, weel-inf ormed, 
versateele, and biddable contributors ? 

North. None such are to be found on earth — you must 
look for them in heaven. Oh, James ! you know not what 
it is to labor under a load of contributors ! A prosy parson, 
who, unknown to me, had, it seems, long worn a wig, and 
published an assize sermon, surprising me off my guard on a 
dull rainy day, when the most vigilant of editors has fallen 
* Chirts— spiirts. t The author of Boxiana. 



120 The Shepherd's Wrongs, 

asleep, effects a footing in the Magazine. Oh, what toil and 
trouble in dislodging the Doctor ! The struggle may continue 
for years — and there have been instances of clerical contribu- 
tors finally removed only by death. 

Shepherd. Dog on't, ye wicket auld Lucifer, hoo your een 
pparkle as you touzle the clergy ! You just mind me o' a 
lion purlin wi' inward satisfaction in his throat, and waggin 
his tufted tail ower a Hottentot lying atween his paws aye 
preferring the flesh o' a blackamoor to that o' a white man. 

North. I respect and love the clergy, James. You know 
that well enough, and the feeling is mutual. Or suppose a 
young lawyer — 

Shepherd. Or suppose that some shepherd, more silly than 
his sheep, that roams in yon glen where Yarrow frae still St. 
Mary's Loch rows wimplin to join the Ettrick, should lay 
down his cruick, and aneath the shadow o' a rock, or a ruin, 
indite a bit tale, in verse or prose, or in something between 
the twa, wi' here and there aiblins a touch o' nature — what 
is ower ower aften the fate o' his unpretending contribution, 
Mr. North ? A cauld glint o' the ee — a curl o' the lip — a 
humph o' the voice — a shake o' the head — and then — but the 
warld, wicked as it is, could never believe it — a wave o' your 
haun, and instantly and for evermore is it swallowed up by 
the jaws of the Balaam-box, greedy as the grave and hungry 
as Hades. Ca' ye that friendship — ca' ye that respec — ca' ye 
that sae muckle as the common humanity due to ane anither, 
frae a' men o' woman born, but which you, sir, — na, dinna 
frown and gnftw your lip, — hae ower aften forgotten to show 
even to me, the Ettrick Shepherd, and the author o' the 
Queen^s Wakef 

North (much affected). What is the meaning of this, my dear, 
dear Shepherd ? May the Magazine sink to the bottom of 
the Red Sea ! — 



" Precious Powldowdies^ 121 

Shepherd. Dinna greet, sir — oh ! dinna, dinna, greet ! For* 
gie me for hurtin your feelins ; and be assured, that frae my 
heart I forgie you if ever you hae hurted mine. As for 
wushin the Magazine to sink to the bottom o' the Red Sea, 
that's no possible ; for it's lichter far than water, and sink it 
never wull till the laws o' Nature hersel undergo change and 
revolution. My only fear is, under the present constitution 
o' the elements, that ae month or ither Maga will flee ower 
the moon, and, thenceforth a comet, will be eccentric on her 
course, and come careering in sight o' the inhabitants o' the 
yearth, perhaps, only ance or twice before Neddy Irving's * 
Day o' Judgment. 

(Mr. Ambrose enters.) 

Shepherd. As sure's death, there's the oysters ! O man, 
Awmrose, but you've the pleasantest face o' ony man o' a* 
my acquaintance. Here's ane as braid's a mushroom. This 
is Saturday nicht, and they've a' gotten their bairds shaved. 
There's a wee ane awa down my wrang throat ; but deil a 
fears, it'll find its way into the stamach. A waught f o' 
that porter gars the drums o' ane's lugs crack and play dirl. 

Tickler. They are in truth precious powldowdies. More 
boards, Ambrose, more boards. 

Shepherd. Yonner are half-a-dizzen fresh boards on the 
side-tables. But more porter, Awmrose — more porter. 
Canna ye manage mair than twa pots at a time, man, in ilka 
haun ? For twunty years, Mr. North, I used aye to blaw 
aff the froth, or cut it smack-smooth across wi' the edge o' 
my loof ; but for the last ten or thereabouts, indeed ever 
since the Magazine, I hae sooked in froth and a', nor cared 
about diving my nose in't. Faith, I'm thinkin that maun be 
what they ca' Broon Stoot ; for Mr. Pitt and Mr. Fox are 

* The Rev. Edward Irving, a popular preacher of the day. He died in 1834. 
t Waught— A large di-aught. 



122 A Psychological Curiosity, 

uearing ane anither on tlie wa' there, as gin they were gaun to 
fecht ; and either the roof's rising, or the floor fa'in, or I'm 
hafflins fou ! 

TicJder. Mr. Pitt and Mr. Fox ! — why, James, you are 
di-eaming. This is not the Blue Parlor ! 

North. A Psychological Curiosity ! 

Shepherd. Faith, it is curious aneuch, and shows the power 
o' habit in producing a sort o' delusion on the ocular spect- 
rum. I wad hae sworn I saw the lang, thin, lank feegur and 
cocked-up nose o' Pitt, wi' his hand pressed down wi' an 
authoritative nieve on a heap o' Parliamentary papers ; and 
the big, clumsy carcase, arched een, and jolly chops o' Fox, 
mair like a master coal-merchant than an orator or a states- 
man ; — but they've vanished away, far aff, and wee, wee like 
atomies, and this is not the Blue Parlor sure aneuch. 

North. To think of one of the Noctes Ambrosianae passing 
away without ever a single song ! 

Shepherd. It hasna past awa yet, Mr. North. It's no 
eleven, man ; and to hinner twal frae strikin untimeously — 
and on a Saturday nicht I hate the sound o't — Mr. Awm- 
rose, do you put back, ae round, the lang hand o' the knock.* 
Ye'se hae a sang or twa afore we part, Mr. North ; but, even 
■without music, hasna this been a pleasant nicht ? I sail begin 
noo wi' pepper, vinegar, and mustard, for the oysters by 
tlicirsels are getting a wee saut. By the tramping on the 
fairs I jalouse the playhouse is scalin. Whisht, Mr. North ! 
Acep a calm sugh, or O'Doherty will be in on us, and gar us 
break the Sabbath morning. Noo, let's draw in our chairs 
to the fireside, and when a's settled in the tither parlors, I'll 
sing you a sang. 

[ Curtain falls. 
• Knock— QlOQik.. 



X. 

IN WHICH THE SHEPHERD RELATES HO W THE BAG- 
MEN WERE LOST. 

Scene — Ambrose's Hotel, Picardy Place — Paper Parlor, 

North. — Shepherd. 

Shepherd. Oh, sir ! but I'm real happy to see you out 
again ; and to think that we're to hae a twa-handed crack, 
without Tickler or ony o' the rest kennin that we're at Awm- 
rose's. Gie's your haun again, my dear sir. Noo, what 
shall we hae ? 

North. A single jug, James, of Glenlivet — not very strong, 
if you please ; for — 

Shepherd. A single jug o' Glenleevit — no very Strang ! 
My dear sir, hae you lost your judgment ? You ken my 
regate for toddy, and ye never saw't fail yet. In wi' a' the 
sugar and a' the whusky, whatever they chance to be, intil 
the jug about half fu' o' water — just say three minutes to 
get aif the boil — and then the King's health in a bumper. 

North. You can twist the old man, like a silk thread 
round your finger, James. But remember, I'm on a regimen. 

Shepherd. Sae am I, — five shaves o' toasted butter and 
bread — twa eggs — a pound o' kipper sea-trout orsaumon, be 
it mair or less — and three o' the big cups o' tea to breakfast; 
ae platefu' o' corned beef, and potatoes and greens — the leg 

123 



124 ' The Sin of Snoring. 

and the wing o' a how-towdj — wi' some tongue or ham — a 
cut o' ploom-puddin, and cheese and bread, to denner — and 
ony wye trifle afore bedtime. That's the regimen, sir, that 
I'm on the noo, as far as regards the victualling department ; 
and I canua but say that, moderate as it is, I thrive on't 
decently aneuch, and haena fun' mysel stouter or stranger 
either in mind or body, sin' the King's visit to Scotland. I 
hae made nae change on my licker sin' the Queen's Wake, 
and the time you first dined wi' me in Anne Street — only I 
hae gien up porter, which is swallin drink, and lays on nae- 
thino: but fat and foziness. 

North. I forget if you are a great dreamer, James? 

Shepherd. Sleepin or waukin ? 

North. Slee23ing — and on a heavy sujDper. 

Shepherd. Oh ! sir, I not only pity but despise the coot, 
that aff wi' his claes, on wi' his nichtcap, into the sheets, 
doun wi' his head on the bowster, and then, afore aoither 
man could hae weel taken aff his breeks, snorin awa' wi' a' 
great open mouth, without a single dream ever travellin 
through his fancy 1 What wad be the harm o' pittin him to 
death ? 

North. What! murder a man for not dreaming, James? 

Shepherd. Na — but for no dreaming and for snorin at the 
same time. What for blaw a trumpet through the hail 
house at the dead o' nicht, just to tell that you've lost your 
soul and your senses, and become a breathin clod ? What 
a blow it maun be to a man to marry a snorin woman ! 
Think o' her during the haill hinnymoon, resting her head, 
with a long, gurgling, snorting snore, on her husband's bosom ! 

North. Snoring runs in families ; and, like other hereditary 
complaints, occasionally leaps over one generation, and de- 
scends on the next. But my son, I have no doubt, will snore 
like a trooper. 



A Storm at Tommtoul. 125 

Shepherd. Your son ? ! Try the toddy, sir. Your son ? ! 

North. The jug is a most excellent one, James. Edin 
burgh is supplied with very fine water. 

Shepherd. Gie me the real Glenleevit — such as Awmrose 
aye has in the hoose — and I weel belieye that I could mak 
drinkable toddy out o' sea-water. The human mind never 
tires o' Glenleevit, ony mair than o' cauler * air. If a body 
could just find out the exac proper proportion o' quantity 
that ought to be drank every day, and keep to that, I verily 
trow that he micht leeve for ever, without dying at a,' and 
that doctors and kirkyards would go out of fashion. 

North. Have you had any snow yet, James, in the Forest? 

Shepherd. Only some skirrin f sleets — no aneuch to track a 
hare. But, safe us a' ! what a storm was yon, thus early in 
the season, too, in the Highlands ! I wush I had been in 
Tamantowl $ that nicht. No a wilder region for a snow- 
storm on a' the yearth. Let the wun' come frae what airt it 
likes, richt doun Glen Aven, or up frae Grantown, or across 
frae the woods o' Abernethy, or far aff frae the forests at the 
Head o' Dee, you wad think that it was the deevil himsel 
howlin wi' a' his legions. A black thunderstorm's no half 
sae fearsome to me as a white snaw ane. There is an ocular 
grandeur in it, wi' the opening heavens sending forth the 
flashes o' lichtnin, that brings out the burnished woods frae 
the distance close upon you where you staun, a' the time the 
1 tills rattling like stanes on the roof o' a hoose, and the rain 
(,:itl)er descending in a universal deluge, or here and there 
pouiiiig down in straths, till the thunder can scarcely quell 
the roar o' a thousand cataracts. 

North. Poussin — Poussin — Poussin ! 

Shepherd. The heart quakes, but the imagination even in 
its awe is elevated. You still have a hold on the external 

* L'auier—Xxes,h. 1 Skirrin— ^^\\\g. % A village in Banffshire- 



126 Lost in the Drift. 

world, and a lurid beauty mixes with the magnificence, till 
there is an austere joy in terror. 

North. Burke — Burke — Burke — Edmund Burke ! 

Shepherd. But in a nicht snaw-storm the ragin world o' 
elements is at war with life. Within twenty yards o' a 
human dwelling, you may be remote from succor as at the 
Pole. The drift is the drift of death. Your eyes are extin- 
guished in your head — your ears frozen — your tongue dumb 
Mountains and glens are all alike — so is the middle air eddy- 
ing with flakes and the glimmerin heavens. An army would 
be stopt on its march — and what then is the tread o' ae puir 
solitar}^ wretch, man or woman, struggling on by theirsel, or 
sittin doun, ower despairing even to pray, and fast congealin, 
in a sort o' dwam* o' delirious stupefaction, into a lumj) o' 
icy and rustling snaw ! Wae's me, wae's me ! for that auld 
woman and her wee granddauchter, the bonniest lamb, folk 
said, in a' the Highlands, that left Tamantowl that nicht, 
after the merry strathspeys were over, and were never seen 
again till after the snaw, lying no five hunder yards out o' 
tlie town, the bairn wrapt round and round in the crone's 
plaid as weel as in her ain, but for a' that, dead as a flower- 
stalk that has been forgotten to be taken into the house at 
nicht, and in the mornin brittle as glass in its beauty, 
although, till you come to touch it, it would seem to be 
alive ! 

North. With what very different feelings one would read 
an account of the death of a brace of Bagmen f in the snow ! 
How is that to be explained, James ? 

Shepherd. You see, the imagination pictures the twa Bag- 
men as Cockneys. As the snaw was getting dour at them, 
and giein them sair flaffs and dads on their faces, spittin in 
t\ eir verra een, ruggin their noses, and blawin upon their 

* i^waw— swoou. t Commercial travellers. 



The Bagmen in the Drift. 127 

blubbeiy lips till they blistered, the Cockneys wad be wax- 
ing half feared and half angry, and damnin the " Heelans," 
as the cursedest kintra that ever was kittled. But wait 
awee, my gentlemen, and you'll keep a lowner sugh or you 
get halt'-way from Dalnacardoch to Dalwhinnie.^' 

North. A wild district, for ever whirring, even in mist 
snow, with the gorcock's wing. 

Shepherd. Whist — hand your tongue, till I finish the 
account o' the death of the twa Bagmen in the snaw. Ane o' 
their horses — for the creturs are no ill mounted — slidders 
awa doun a bank, and gets jammed into a snaw -stall, where 
there's no room for turnin. Tlie other horse grows obstinate 
wi' the sharp stour in his face, and proposes retreating to 
Dalnacardoch, tail foremost; but no being sae weel up to 
the walkin or the trottin backwards as that Eno^lish chiel 
Townsend, the pedestrian, hecloitsf doun first on his hurdles, 
and then on his tae side, the girths burst, and the saddle 
hangs only by a tack to the crupper. 

North. Do you know, James, that though you are mani- 
festly drawing a picture intended to be ludicrous, it is to me 
extremely patlietic ? 

Shejjherd. The twa Cockneys are now forced to act as dis- 
mounted cavalry through the rest of the campaign, and sit 
doun and cry — pretty babes o' the wood — in each ither's 
arms ! John Frost decks their noses and their ears with 
icicles- -and each vulgar physiognomy partakes of the pathetic 
cliaracter of a turnip making an appeal to the feelings on 
Halloween. — Dinna sneeze that way when ane's speakin, sir ! 

No7'th. You ought rather to have cried, " God bless you.'* 

Shepherd. A' this while neither the snaw nor the wund has 
been idle — and baith Cockneys are sitting up to the middle, 
poor creturs — no that verra cauld, for driftin snaw sune begina 

* In the Higlilands of Perthshire. t Cloits—iails heavily. 



128 Death in the Drift 

to fin' warm and comfortable, but wae's me ! unco, unco 
sleepy — and not a word do they speak ! — and now the snaw 
is up to their verra chins, and the bit bonny, braw, stiif, 
fause shirt-collars, that they were sae proud o' stickin at their 
chafts, are as hard as airn, for they've gotten a sair Scotch 
starchin — and the fierce Norlh cares naething for their towsy 
hair a' smellin wi' Kalydor and Macassar, no it indeed, but 
twurls it a' into ravelled hanks, till the frozen mops bear 
nae earthly resemblance to the ordinary heads o' Cockneys ; — 
and hoo indeed should they, lying in sic an unnatural and 
out-o'-the-way place for them, as the moors atween Dalnacar- 
doch and Dalwhinnie ? 

North. Oh, James — say not they perished ! 

Shepherd. Yes, sir, they perished; under such circum- 
stancec, it would have been too much to expect of the vital 
spark that it should not have fled. It did so — and a pair of 
more interesting Bagmen never slept the sleep of death. Gie 
me the lend o' your hankercher, sir, for I agree wi' you that 
the picture's verra pathetic. 

North. Did you read, James, in one of Maga's Leading 
Articles, called •' Glance over Selby's Ornithology," an ac- 
count of the Red Tarn Raven Club devouring the corpse of 
a Quaker on the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn ?* 

Shepherd. Ay, — what about it? I could hae dune't as 
weel mysel. 

North. Do you know, James, that it gave great offence ? 

Shepherd. I hae nae doubt that the birds o' prey that keep 
gorging themsels for weeks after a great battle, gie great 
offence to thousands o' the wounded, — picking out their een, 
and itherwise hurting their feelings. Here a bluidy straight 
beak tweakin a general officer by the nose, and there a no less 
bluidy crooked ane tearing aff the ee-broos o'adrumme^ 

* See the Recrealions of Christopher N'orth, vol. iii. p. 81. 



Pigeon-Murder. 129 

and happin aff to eat them on the hollow round o' his ain 
drum, — on which never will tattoo be beaten ony mair, for a 
musket-ball has gone through the parchment, and the " stormy 
music," as Cammel ca's it, is hushed for ever. What need a 
description o' the dreadfu' field, when it has been crappit and 
fallowed year after year, gie offence to ony rational reader ? 
Surely no ; and, therefore, why shudder at a joke about the 
death o' ae Quaker? — Tuts, tuts, it's a, nonsense. 

North. James, you are a good shot ? 

Shepherd. 1 seldom miss a haystack, or a barn-door, stand- 
ing, at twenty yards ; but war they to tak wings to them- 
selves and flee away, I should be shy o' takin on ony big bet 
that I should bring them down — ^especially wi' a single 
barrel. . . . Nane o' your pigeon-killers for me, waitin in 
cool blood till the bonny burdies, that should ne'er be shot at 
a' excep when they're on the corn-stooks, flee out o' a trap 
wi' a flutter and a whirr ; and then prouder men are they nor 
the Duke o' Wellington, when they knock down, wi' pinions 
ower purple, the bright birds o' Venus, tumbling, as if hawk- 
struck, within boun's, or carrying aneath the down o' their 
bonny bosoms some cruel draps, that ere nightfall will gar 
them moan out their lives amang the cover o' suburban 
groves. 

North. So you have no pity, James, for any other birds 
but the birds of Venus ? 

Shepherd. I canna say tliat I hae muckle pity for mony o' 
the ithers — ^mair especially wild-dyucks and whaups. It's a 
trial that Job would never hae come through, without swearin 
— after wading half the day through marsh and fen, some- 
times up to the houghs, and sometimes to the oxters, to see 
a dizzen or a score o' wild-dyucks a' risin thegither, about a 
quarter o' a mile aff, wi' their outstretched bills and droopin 
doups. maist unmercifully ill-made, as ane might mistake it. 



iBO What are Whaups ? 

for fleeing, and then making a circle half a mile ayont the 
reach o' slug, gradually fa'in intil a mathemetical figure in 
Euclid's Elements, and vanishin, wi' the speed o' aigles, in the 
weather-gleam,* as if they were aff for ever to Norway, or to 
the North Pole. Dang their web-footed soles — 

North. James, remember where you are, and with 
whom — time, place, and person. No maledictions to-night on 
any part o' the creation, feathered or un-feathered. During 
Christmas holidays, I would rather err on the side of undue 
humanity. What are whaups ? 

Shepherd. That's a gude ane ! Ma faith, you pruved that 
you kent weel aneuch what were whaups that day at Yarrow- 
Ford, when you devoored twa, stoop and roop, f to the as- 
tonishment o' the Tailor, $ wha begood to fear that you would 
neist § eat his guse for a second coorse. The English ca' 
whaups curl-loos — the maist nonserisicalest name for a whaup 
ever I heard — but the English hae little or nae imagination. 

North. My memory is not so good as it used to be, James 
— but I remember it now — " Most prime picking is the 
whaup." 

Shepherd. In wuntur they're aff to the sea — but a' simmer 
and hairst they haunt the wide, heathy, or rushy and boggy 
moors. Ye may discover the whaup's lang nose half a mile 
aff, as the gleg-eed cretur keeps a watch ower the wilderness, 
wi' baith sicht and smell. 

North. Did you shoot the whaups alluded to above, James, 
— or the Tailor himself ? 

Shepherd. Him — no me. But mony and af t's the time that 
I hae lain for hours ahint some auld turf-dyke, that aiblins 
had ance enclosed a bit bonny kailyard belanging to a housie 

♦ Weather-gleam — ^horizon. t Stoop and Roop. — stump and rump. 

+ The flying tailor of Ettrick, an eccentric character, celebrated for hia 
ftgility. 
§ i\reis/,— next. 



Natural HistoriJ. 131 

noo soopt f rae the face of the yearth, — every noo and than 
keekin ower the grassy rampart to see gif the whaups, thiukin 
themselves alane, were takin their walk in the solitude ; and 
gif nane were there, layin mysel doun a' my length on my 
grufe"^ and elbow, and reading an ancient ballant, or maybe 
tryin to croon a bit sang o'my ain, inspired by the lown and 
lanesome spat, — for oh, sir ! haena ye aften felt that the 
farther we are in body frae human dwellings, the nearer are 
we to their ingles in sowl ? 

North. Often, James — often. In a crowd I am apt to be 
sullen or ferocious. In solitude I am the most benevolent of 
men. To understand my character, you must see me alone — 
converse with me — meditate on what I then say — and behold 
my character in all its original biightness. 

Shepherd. The dearest thocht and feelings o' auld lang syne 
come crowd, crowdin back again into the heart whenever 
there's an hour o' perfect silence, just like so many swallows 
coming a-wing frae God knows where, when winter is ower 
and gane, to the self-same range o' auld clay biggins, aneath 
the thatch o' house or the slate o' ha' — unforgetfu' they o' 
the place whare they were born, and first hunted the insect- 
people through shadow or sunshine ! 

North. I wish you had seen Audubon, James ; you would 
have taken to each other very kindly, for you, James, are 
yourself a naturalist, although sometimes, it must be confessed, 
you deal a little in the miraculous when biographically in- 
clined about sheep, dogs, eagles, and salmon. 

Shepherd. The ways o' the creatures o' the inferior creation, 
as we choose to ca' birds and beasts, are a' miraculous the- 
gither — nor would they be less so if we understood better 
than we do their several instincts. Natural History is just 
anither name for Natural Theology — and the sang o' the 

* GrM/e— belly. 



182 The Calabrian Harpers. 

laverock, and the plumage o' the goldfinch — do they not alike 
remind us o' God ? 

North. Hark! the Calabrian harpers. Ring the bell, James, 
and we shall have them up-stairs for half an hour. 

Shepherd (rings). Awmrose — Awmrose — bring my fiddle. 
I'll accompany the Calawbrians wi' voice and thairm. 



XL 

THE EXECUTION OF THE MUTINEER 

Scene, — Amhrose's Hotel, Picardy Place — Paper Parlor, 

North. — Shepherd. 

North. How do you account, my dearest Shepherd, for the 
steadiness and perseverance of my affection for thee, seeing 
that I am naturally and artificially the most wayward, fickle, 
and capricious of all God's creatures ? Not a friend but 
yourself, James, with whom I have not frequently and bit- 
terly quarrelled, often to the utter extinction of mutual 
regard — but towards my incomprehensible Brownie my 
heart ever yearns — 

Shepherd. Hand your leein tongue, ye tyke, you've quar- 
relled wi' me mony thousan' times, and I've borne at your 
hands mair ill-usage than I wad hae taen frae ony ither 
mortal man in his Majesty's dominions. Yet I weel believe 
that only the shears o' Fate will ever cut the cords o' our 
friendship. I fancy it's just the same wi' you as wi'me, we 
maun like ane anither whether we wuU or no — and that's the 
sort o' freendship for me — ^for it flourishes, like a mountain 
flower, in all weathers — braid and bricht in the sunshine, 
and just faulded up a wee in the sleet, sae that it micht maist 
be thocht dead, but fu' o' life in its cozy bield * ahint the 

* Cozy bield — snug shelter. 

133 



134 The Spark of Immortality, 

mossy stane, and peering out again in a' its beauty at the 
sang o' the rising laverock. 

North. This world's friendships, James— 
Shepherd. Are as cheap as crockery, and as easily broken 
by a fa'. They seldom can bide a clash, without fleein intil 
flinders.* Oh, sir, but maist men's hearts, and women's too, 
are like toom nits t — i^ae kernel, and a splutter o' fushion- 
less dust. I sometimes canna help thinkin that there's nae 
future state. 

North. Fie, fie, James ; leave all such dark skepticism to a 
Byron — it is unworthy of the Shepherd. 

Shepherd. What for should sae mony puir, peevish, selfish, 
stupid, mean, and malignant creatures no just lie still in the 
mools among the ither worms, aneath their bits o' inscribed 
tombstones, aiblins railed in, and a' their nettles, wi' painted 
aim-rails, in a nook o' the kirkj^ard that's their ain property, 
and naebody's wushin to tak it frae them — what for, I say, 
shouldna they lie quate in skeletou for a thousand years, and 
then crummle, crummle, crummle awa intil the yearth o' which 
Time is made, and ne'er be reimmatterialeezed into Eternity ? 
North. This is not like your usual gracious and benign 
philosophy, James ; but, believe me, my friend, that within 
the spirit of the most degraded wretch that ever grovelled 
earthward from caudle-day to corpse-day, there has been 
some slumbering spark divine, inextinguishable by the death- 
damps of the cemetery — 

Shepherd. Gran' words, sir, gran' words, nae doubt, mair 
especially " cemetery," which I'm fond o' usin mysel, as of ten's 
the subject and the verse will alloo. But after a', is't mair 
poetical than the " Grave " ? Deevil a bit. For a wee, 
short, simple, stiff, stern, dour, and fearsome word, commend 
me to the " Grave." 

* Flinders— %hixQrs. f Toom »ifs— empty nuts. 



The Fear of Death. 135 

North Let us change the channel of our discussion, 
James, if you please — 

Shepherd. What ! You're no feared for death, are you, 
sir ? 

North. I am. | 

Shepherd. So am I. There, only look at the cawxiit { 
expiring — faint, feeble, flickering, and iust like ane o' us 
puir mortal human creatures, sair, sair unwilling to die ! 
Whare's the snuffers, that I may put it out o' pain ? I'm 
tell't that twa folk die every minute, or rather every mo- 
ment. Isna that fearsome to think o' ? 

North. Ay, James, children have been made orphans, and 
wives widows, since that wick began to fill the room with its 
funereal odor. 

Shepherd. Nae man can manage snuffers richt, unless he 
hae been accustomed to them when he was young. In the 
Forest we a' use our fingers, or blaw the cawnles out wi' our 
mouths, or chap the brass sticks wi' the stinkin wicks again' 
the ribs — and gin there was a pair o' snuffers in the house, 
you might hunt for them through a' the closets and presses 
for a fortnight, without their ever castin up. 

North. I hear that you intend to light up Mount Benger 
with gas, James. Is that a true bill ? 

Shepherd. I had thochts o't — but the gasometer, I find, 
comes ower high — so I shall stick to the " Lang Twas." Oh, 
man, noo that the cawnle's out, isna that fire unco heart- 
some? Your face, sir, looks just perfeckly ruddy in the 
bleeze, and it wad tak a pair o' poorfu' specks to spy out 
a single wrinkle. You'll leeve yet for ither twa hundred 
Numbers. 

North. And then, my dear Shepherd, the editorship shall 
be thine. 

Shepherd. Na. When you're dead, Maga will be dead. 

* CawTiZc— candle. 



136 The Popularity of North, 

She'll no surveeve you ae single day. Buried shall you be in 
ae grave, and curst be he that disturbs your banes ! Afore 
you and her cam out, this wasna the same warld it has been 
Bin' syne. Wut and wisdom never used to be seen linkin 
alang thegither, han'-in-han', as they are noo, frae ae end o' 
the month to the ither ; — there wasna prented a byuck tliat 
garred ye break out at ae page into grief, and at anither into 
a guffaw ; — where could ye foregather wi' * sic a canty f crew 
o' chiels as O'Doherty and the rest, passin themselves aff 
sometimes for real, and sometimes for fictions characters, till 
the puzzled public glowered as if they had flung the glamour 
ower her ? — and oh, sir, afore you brak out, beautiful as had 
been many thousan' thousan' million, billion, trillion, and 
quadi'illion nights by firesides in huts or ha's, or out-by in 
the open air, wi' the starry heavens resting on the saft hill- 
taps, yet a' the time that the heavenly bodies were perform- 
ing their stated revolutions — there were nae, nae Noctes 

AMBROSIANiE ! 

North, I have not, I would fain hope, my dear James, 
been altogether useless in my generation — but your partiality 
exaggerates my merits — 

Shepherd, A man would require an oss magna sonaturum 
to do that. Suffice it to say, sir, that you are the wisest and 
wittiest of men. Dinna turn awa your face, or you'll get a 
crick in your neck. There's no sic a popular man in a' 
Britain the noo as Christopher North. Oh, sir, you'll dee as 
rich as Croesus — for every day there's wulls makin by auld 
leddies and young leddies, leaving you their residiatory 
legatee, sometimes, I fear, past the heirs, male or female, o' 
their bodies, lawfully begotten. 

North, No, James ; I trust that none of my admirers, since 
admirers you say the old man hath, will ever prove so unprin- 

* Foregather wi'— fall in with. t Canty — lively. 



The Shepherd's Bad Luck. 137 

cipled as to leave their money away from their own kin. 
Nothing can justify that — but hopeless and incurable vice iu 
the natural heirs. 

Shepherd. I wush I was worth just twenty thousan' pounds. 
I could leeve on that — but no on a farden less. In the first 
place, I would buy three or four pair o' tap-boots — and I 
would try to introduce into the Forest buckskin breeks. 
I would neist, sin' naebody's gien me ane in a present, buy a 
gold musical snuff-box, that would play tunes on the table. 

North. Heavens ! James — at that rate you would be a 
ruined man before the comino^ of Christmas. You would see 
your name honorably mentioned in the Gazette. 

Shepherd. Then a gold twisted watch-chain, sax gold seals 
o' various sizes, frae the bigness o' my neive amaist, doun to 
that o' a kitty-wren's e,g^. 

North. Which O'Doherty would chouse you out of at brag 
some night at his own lodgings, after the play. 

Shepherd. Catch me at the cairds, unless it be a game at 
Birky ; ^ for I'm sick o' Whust itsel, I've sic desperate bad 
hauns dealt to me noo — no an ace ance in a month, and no 
that unseldom a haun without a face-caird, made up o' deuces, 
and trays, and fours, and fives, and be damned to them ; so 
that to tak the verra weakest trick is entirely out o' my 
power, except it be by main force, barling the cairds to me 
whether the opposite side wull or no ; and then at the close 
o' the round, threepin t that I had twa honors — the knave 
and anither ane. Sic bad luck hae I in a' chance games, IMr. 
North, as you ken, that were I to fling dice for my life alang 
wi' a haill army o' fifty thousand men, I wad be sure to be 
shot ; for I would fling aces after some j)uir trumlin drummei 
had flung deuces, and be led out into the middle o' a hollow 
square for execution. 

• Anglic. Beggar-my-neighbor. t Threepin— a&^&rimg pertinaciously. 



1B8 The Approach of the Troops. 

North. James, you are very excursive this evening in your 
conversation — nobody is thinking of shooting you, James. 

Shepherd. And I'm sure that I hae nae thochts o' shootin 
mysel. But ance — it's a lang time syne — I saw a sodger 
shot — dead, sir, as a door-nail, or a coffin-nail, or ony ither 
kind o' nail. 

North. Was it in battle, James ? 

Shepherd. In battle ? — Na, na ; neither you nor me was 
ever fond o' being in battle at ony time o' our lives. 

North. I was Private Secretary to Rodney when he beat 
Langara,* James. 

Shepherd, Hand your tongue ! — What a crowd on the 
Links t that day ! But a' wi' fixed, whitish faces — nae 
speakin — no sae muckle as a whisper — a frozen dumbness 
that nae wecht % could break ! 

North. You mean the spectators, James. 

Shepherd. Then the airmy appeared in the distance ; for 
there were three haill regiments, a' wi' fixed beggonets ; but 
nae music — nae music for a while at least, till a' at ance, 
mercy on us ! we heard, like laigh sullen thunder, the soun* 
o' the great muffled drum, aye played on, ye ken, by a black 
man ; in this case an African neegger, sax feet four ; and 
what bangs he gied the bass — the whites o' his een rowin 
about as if he was glad, atween every stroke. 

North. I remember him — the best pugilist then going, for 
it was long before the days of Eichmond and Molineaux — 
and nearer forty than thirty years ago, James. 

Shepherd. The tread of the troops was like the step o' ae 
giant — sae perfate was their discippleen — and afore I weel 
kent that they were a' in the Links, three sides o' a square 
were formed — and the soun' o' the great drum ceased, as at 

* Off Cape St. Yinceut, on the 16th of January 1780. 
t ZinA's— do wTis. t JFec/j^— weight. 



The Mutineer. 139 

an inaudible word of command, or wavin o' a liaun, or the 
lowerin o' a banner. It was but ae man tliat vas about to 
die — but for that ae man, bad their awe no hindeied them, 
twenty thousan' folk wad at that moment hae broken out 
into lamentations and rueful cries — but as yet not a tear was 
shed — not a sigh was heaved — ^for had a' that vast crowd 
been sae mony images, corpses raised up by cantrip in their 
death-claes, they couldna hae been mair motionless than at 
that minute, nor mair speechless than that multitude o' leevin 
souls ! 

North. I was myself one of the multitude, James. 

Shepherd. There, a' at ance, hoo or whare he came frae 
nane could tell — there, I say, a' at ance stood the Mutineer. 
Some tell't me afterwards that they had seen him marchin 
alang, twa-three yards ahint his coffin, wi' his head just a 
wee thocht inclined downwards, not in fear o' man or death, 
but in awe o' God and judgment, keepin time wi' a military 
step that was natural to him, and no unbecoming a brave 
man on the way to the grave, and his een fixed on the green 
that was fadin awa for ever and ever frae aneath his feet ; 
but that was a sicht I saw not — for the first time I beheld 
him he was standin, a' unlike the ither men, in the middle o' 
that three-sided square, and there was a shudder through the 
haill multitude, just as if we had been a' standin haun in 
haun, and a natural philosopher had gien us a shock o' his 
electrical machine. " That's him — that's him — puir, puir 
fallow ! Oh ! but he' a pretty man ! " — Such were the 
ejaculations frae thousan's o' women, maist o' them young 
anes, but some o' them auld, and grey-headed aneath their 
mutches, and no a few wi' babies sookin or caterwailin at 
their breasts. 

North. A pretty girl fainted within half-a-dozen yards of 
tvhere I stood. 



140 At the Death Scene. 

Shepherd. His name was Lewis Mackenzie — and as fine a 
young man be was as ever stepped on heather. The moment 
before he knelt down on his coffin, he seemed as fu' o' life as 
if he had stripped aff his jacket for a game at foot-ba,' or to 
fling the hammer. Ay, weel micht the women-folk gaze on 
him wi' red, weepin een, for he had lo'ed them but ower 
weel ; and mony a time, it is said, had he let himsel down 
the Castle-rock at night, God knows hoo, to meet his lemans 
— but a' that, a' his sins, and a' his crimes, acted and only 
meditated, were at an end noo — puir fallow — and the platoon, 
wi' fixed beggonets, we]*e drawn up within ten yards, or less, 
o' where he stood, and lie himsel havin tied a handkerchief 
ower his een, dropped down on his knees on his cofiin, wi' 
faulded hands, and lips noving fast, fast, and white as ashes, 
in prayer ! 

Worth. Cursed be the inexorable justice of military law ! — 
he might have been pardoned. 

Shepherd. Pardoned ! Hadna he disarmed his ain captain 
o' his sword, and ran him through the shouther — in a mutiny 
of which he was himsel the ringleader ? King George on 
the throne durstna hae pardoned him — it wad hae been as 
much as his crown was worth — for hoo could King, Kiutra, 
and Constitution thole a standing army in which mutiny was 
not punished wi' death ? 

North. Six balls pierced him — through head and heart- — 
and what a shriek, James, then arose ! 

Shepherd. Ay, to hae heard that shriek, you wad hae 
thoufrht that the women that raised it wad never hae lauchcd 
again ; but in a few hours, as sune as nightfall darkened the 
city, some o' them were gossipin about the shootin o' the 
sodger to their neighbors, some dancin at hops that shall be 
nameless, some sittin on their sweethearts' knees, wi' their 
arms roun' their necks, some swearin like troopers, some 



The Mutineer § Father. 141 ~ 

doubtless sittin thochtfu' by the fireside, or awa to bed in 
sadness an hour sooner than usual, and then fast asleep. 

Nm-th. I saw his old father, James, with my own eyes, 
step oilt from the crowd, and way being made for him, he 
walked up to his son's dead body, and embracing it, kissed 
his bloody head, and then with clasped hands looked up to 
heaven. 

Shepherd. A Strang and stately auld man, and ane, too, 
that had been a soldier in his youth. Sorrow, not shame, 
somewhat bowed his head, and ance he reeled as if he were 
faint on a sudden. — But what the deevil's the use o' me 
haverin awa this way about the shootin o' a sodger, thretty 
years sin' syne, and mair too — for didna I see that auld, 
silvery-headed father o' the mutineer staggering alang the 
Grassmarket, the verra next day after the execution, as fou 
as the Baltic, wi' a heap o' mischievous weans hallooin after 
him, and him a' the while in a dwam o' drink and despair, 
maunderin about his son Lewis, then lyin a' barken'd wi' 
blood in his coffin, six feet deep in a fine rich loam. 

North. That very same afternoon I heard the drums and 
fifes of a recruiting party, belonging to the same regiment, 
winding away down towards Holyrood ; and the place of 
Lewis Mackenzie in the line of bold sergeants with their 
claymores, was supplied by a corporal, promoted to a trij)le 
bar on his sleeve in consequence of the death of the 
mutineer. 

Shepherd. It was an awfu' scene, yon, sir ; but there was 
naething humiliating to human nature in it — as in a hangin ; 
and it struck a wholesome fear into the souls o' many thousan' 
sodgers. 

North. The silence and order of the troops, all the while, 
was sublime. 

Shepherd. It was sae, indeed. 



142 Toasted Cheese. 

North. What do you think, James, of that, by way of a 
toasting cheese? Ambrose calls it the Welshman's delight, 
or Davies' darling. 

Shepherd. It's rather teuch — luk, luk, hoo it pu's out, out, 
out, and better out, into a very thread o' the unbeaten gold, 
a' ihe way frae the ashet to my mouth. Saw ye ever ouy- 
thing sae tenawcious ? I verily believe that I could walk, 
without breakin't, intil the tither room. Noon that I've 
gotten't intil my mouth — I wush it ever may be gotten out 
again ! The tae * end o' the line is fastened, like a hard 
gedd t (see Dr. Jamieson) in the ashet — and the ither end's 
in my stammach — and the thin thread o' attenuated cheese 
gets atween my teeth, sae that I canna chow't through and 
through. Thank ye, sir, for cuttin't. Rax me ower the 
jug. Is't yill ? Here's to you, sir. 

North. Peebles ale, James. It has a twang of the Tweed. 

Shepherd. Tweed ! Do you ken, Mr. North, that last 
simmer f the Tweed ran dry, and never flowed sin' syne. 
They're speakin o' takin doun a' the brigs frae Erickstane to 
Berwick, and changing the channel intil the turnpike road. 
A' the materials are at haun, and it's a' to be macadameezed. 

North. The Steam-Engine Mail-Coach is to run that road 
in spring. 

Shepherd. Is't ? She'll be a dangerous vehicle — but I'll 
tak my place in the safety-valve. But jeestin apairt, do you 
ken, sir, that mony and mony a wee well among the hills and 
mountains was really dried up by the drought o' three dry 
simmers — and for them my heart was wae, as if they had 
been ance leevin things ! For werena they like leevin thmgs, 
aye sae calm, and clear, and bright, and sae contented, ilka 
ane by itsel, in far-awa spats, whare the grass runkled on] 7 

* 2'ae— one. t G^er/^Z— a pike-staff stuck into the ground. 

X The summer of 1826 was memorable for its drought. 



" Plenty without them / " 143 

to the shepherd's foot twa-tliree times a year, aud a' the rest 
o' the sun's annual visit roun' the globe lay touched only 
by the wandering light and shadows ! 

North. Poo — poo — James — there's plenty of water in the 
world without them. 

Shepherd. Plenty o' water in the world without them ? 
Ay, that there is, and mair than plenty — but. what's that to 
the purpose, ye auld haveral ? Gin five thousan' bonny 
bairns were to be mawn doun by the scytlie o' Death during 
the time that I'm drinking this glass — (oh, man, but this is 
a grand jug, aiblins rather ower sweet, and rather ower strong, 
but, that's twa gude fauts) — there wad be plenty o' bairns 
left in the warld, legitimate and illegitimate — and 
you nor me micht never miss them. But wadna there 
be just sae much extinguishment, or annihilation like, o' 
beauty and bliss, o' licht and lauchter, o' ray-like ringlets, 
and lips that war nae sweeter, for naething can be sweeter, 
than the half -opened buds o' moss-roses, when the morning is 
puttin on her claes, but lips that were just as sweet when 
openin and shuttin in their balmy breath, when ilka happy 
bairn was singing a ballant or a psalm, baith alike 
pious and baith alike pensive ; for a' the airs o' Scotland 
(excep a gey hantle, to be sure, o' wicket tunes) soun' aye 
to me mair melancholy than mirthfu', spirit-like, and as if 
of heavenly origin, like the bit lown musical soun's that go 
echoing by the ear, or rather the verra soul o' the shepherd 
leaning on his staff at nicht, when a' the earth is at rest, and 
lookin up, and ower, and through into the verra heart o' 
heaven, when the lift is a' ae glorious glitter o' cloudless 
stars ! You're no sleepy, sir ? 

North. Sleepy! You may as well ask the leader in a 
tandem if he be sleepy, when performing the match of tweLty- 
eight miles in two hours without a break. 

Shepherd. Ae spring there is — in a noak known but to mo 



144 The Shepherd'8 Fast. 

and anither, a bit nook greener than ony emerald — or even 
the Queen Fahy's symar, as she disentangles it frae her feet 
iu the moonlight dance, enclosed wi' laigh broomy rocks, 
amaist like a sheep-fauld, but at the upper end made lown in 
a' weathers by ae single stane, like the last ruin o' a tower, 
smelling sweet, nae doubt, at this blessed moment, wi' thyme, 
that enlivens even the winter season, — ae spring there is, I 
say— 

North. Dear me ! James — let me loosen your neckcloth — 
you are getting black in the face. What sort of a knot is 
this ? It would puzzle the ghost of Gordius to untie it. 

Shepherd. Dinna mind the crauvat. I say, Mr. North, 
rather were my heart dried up to the last drop o' bluid, than 
that tlie pulses of that spring should cease to beat in the holy 
wilderness. 

North. Your emotion is contagious, James. I feel the 
rheum bedimming my aged eyes, albeit unused to the melt- 
ing mood. 

Shepherd. You've heard me tell the tale afore — and it's 
no a tale I tell when I can help it — but sometimes, as at pres- 
ent, when sittin wi' the friend I love, and respect and ven- 
erate, especially if, like you, he be maist like a father, or at 
least an elder brither, the past comes upon me wi' a' the power 
o' the present, and though my heart be sair, ay, sair maist 
to the verra breakin, yet I maun speak — ^for though big and 
great griefs are dumb, griefs there are, rather piteous and 
profound, that will shape themselves into words, even when 
nane are by to hear — nane but the puir silly echoes, that can 
only blab the twa-three last syllables o' a secret. 

North. To look on you, James, an ordinary observer would 
think that you had never had any serious trials in this life — 
that Doric laugh of thine, my dear Shepherd — 

Shepherd. I hate and despise ordinary observers, and thank 



" Ordinary Obsei'vers/' 145 

God that they can ken naethmg o' me or my character. 
The pitifu' cretars aye admire a man wi' a lang nose, hollow 
cheeks, black een, swarthy cheeks, and creeshy hair ; and 
tank to ane anither about his interesting melancholy, and 
severe misfortunes ; and hoo he had his heart weel-nigh 
])roken by the death o' twa wives, and the loss o' a third 
evangelical miss, wha eloped, after her wedding-claes had 
been taen af£ at the haberdasher's, wi' a play-actor wha had 
ance been a gentleman — that is, attached to the commissaw- 
riat department o' the army in the Peninsula, a dealer in 
adulterated flour and mule-flesh sausages. 

North. Interesting emigrants to Van Diemen's Land. 

Shepherd. A man wi' buck-teeth and a cockit nose, like 
me, they'll no alloo to be a martyr to melancholy ; but be- 
cause they see and hear me lauchin as in Peter's Letters,* 
scoot the idea o' my ever geein way to grief, and afttimes 
thinkin the sweet light o' heaven's blessed sunshine darkened 
by a black veil that flings a correspondin shadow ower the 
seemingly disconsolate yearth. 

North. Most of the good poets of my acquaintance have 
light-colored hair. 

Shepherd. Mine in my youth was o' a bricht yellow. 

North. And a fine animal you were, James, I am told, as 
you walked up the transe o' the kirk, with your mane flying 
over your shoulders, confined within graceful liberty by a 
blue ribbon, the love-gift of some bonny May, that wonned 
amang the braes, and had yielded you the parting kiss, just 
as the cottage clock told that now another week was past, 
and you heard the innocent creature's heart beating in the 
hush o' the Sabbath morn. 

Shepherd. Whisht, whisht ! 

* Peter's Letters to his Kinsfolh, 1819, These lively sketches of Edinburgh 
society and its celebrities were from the pen and the pencil of Mr. Lockhart, 



146 The Tale of the Haunted Well. 

North. But we have forgotten the Tale of the Haunted 
Well. 

Shepherd. It's nae Tale — for there's naething that could 
be ca'd an incident in a' that I could say about that well ! 
Oh ! sir — she was only twa months mair than fifteen — and 
though she had haply reached her full stature, and was some- 
what taller than the maist o' our Forest lassies, yet you saw 
at ance that she was still but a bairn. I was a hantle aulder 
than her — and as she had nae brither, I was a brither to her 
— ^neither had she a father or mither, and ance on a day, 
when I said to her that she Wad find baith in me, wha loved 
her for her goodness and her innocence, the puir britherless, 
sisterless, parentless orphan had her face a' in ae single in- 
stant as drenched in tears as a flower cast up on the sand at 
the turn o' a stream that has brought it down in a spate frae 
the far-aff hills. 

North. Her soul, James, is now in heaven ! 

Shepherd. The simmer afore she died, she didna use to 
come o' her ain accord, and, without being asked in aueath 
my plaid, when a skirring shower gaed by — I had to wise * 
her in within its faulds — and her head had to be held down 
by an affectionate pressure, almost like a faint force, on my 
breast — and when 1 spak to her, half in earnest half in jest, 
o' love, she had nae heart to lauch, — sae muckle as to greet ! 

North. One so happy and so innocent might well shed 
tears. 

Shepherd. There, beside that wee, still, solitary well, have 
we sat for hours that were swift as moments, and each o' 
them filled fu' o' happiness that wad noo be aneuch for years ! 

North. For us, and men like us, James, there is on earth 
no such thing as happiness. Enough that we have known it. 

Shepherd. I should fear noo to face sic happiness as used 

* fTise— entice. 



Disenchantment. 147 

to be there, beside that well — sic happiness would noo turn 
my brain — but nae fear, nae fear o' its ever returnin, for 
that voice went wavering awa up to heaven from this mute 
earth, and on the nicht when it was heard not, and never 
more was to be heard, in the psalm, in my father's house, I 
knew that a great change had been wrought within me, and 
that this earth, this world, this life was disenchanted for ever, 
and the place that held her grave a Paradise no more ! 

North. A fitter place of burial for such an one is not on 
the earth's surface, than that lone hill kirkyard, where she 
hath for years been sleeping.* The birch shrub in the south 
corner will now be quite a stately tree. 

Shepherd. I visit the place sae regularly every May-day in 
the morning, every Midsummer-day, the langest day in the 
year, that is, the twenty-second o' June, in the gloaming, 
that I see little or nae alteration on the spat, or onything 
that belangs to it. But nae doubt, we are baith grown aulder 
thegither ; it in that solitary region, visited by few or none 
— except when there is a burial — and me sometimes at Mount 
Benger, and sometimes in here at Embro', enjoyin mysel at 
Ambrose's — ^for, after a', the world's no a bad world, although 
Mary Morison be dead — dead and buried thirty years ago, 
and that's a lang portion o' a man's life, which is, scripturally 
speakin, somewhere about threescore and ten. 

North. I have not seen any portrait of you, James, in any 
late Exhibition ? 

* This lonely churchyard, on the shore of St. Mary's Loch, is thiis described 
by Scott :— 

* * Nought living meets the eye or ear, 
But well I ween the dead are near ; 
For though, in feudal strife, a foe 
Hath laid Our Lady's chapel low, 
Vet still, beneath the hallow' d soil, 
The peaaant rests him from his toil, 
And, dying, bids his bones be laid 
Where erst his simple fathers prayed." 

Mann ion, iJitrod. to Canto II. 



148 Frost and Whisky -toddy. 

Shepherd. Nor me o' you, sir. What for doesna Watson 
Gordon immortaleeze himsel by paintin a Portrait o' Christo- 
pher North ? ^ But oh, sir ! but you hae gotten a kittle face 
— your een's sae changefu' in their gleg expression, and that 
mouth o' yours takes fifty shapes and hues every minute, 
while, as for your broos, they're noo as smooth as those 
o' a lassie, and noo as frownin as the broos o' a Saracen's 
head. 

North. There is nothing uncommon in my face, James ? 

Shepherd. Oh, sir, you hae indeed a kittle, kittle face, 
and to do it justice it should be painted in a Series. Ane 
micht ken something o' your physiognomy in the coorse o' a 
Gallery. . . . But nae mair about pictures for ae nicht, if 
you please, sir. 

North. Unless I am much mistaken indeed, James, you 
introduced the subject yourself. 

Shepherd. I'll bet you anither jug I did nae sic thing. 

North. Done. 

Shepherd. But wha'll decide ? Let's drink the jug, though, 
in the first place. It's quite a nicht this for whusky toddy. 
Dinna you observe that a strong frost brings out the flavor 
o' the speerit in a maist surprising manner, and gies't a mair 
precious smell o'er the haill room ? It's the chemical action, 
you understun, o' the cauld and heat, the frost and fire, 
working on a' the materials o' the jug, and the verra jug itsel. 
frae nose to doup, sae that sma'-still becomes perfect nectar. 
on which Jupiter, or Juno either, micht hae got drunk, and 
Apollo, after a haill uicht's screed, risen up in the morning 
wi' his gowden hair, and not the least o' a headache, nor 

* The best portrait extant of Professor Wilson was painted by Sir John 
Watson Gordon, in 1850, for Mr. John Blackwood, in whose possession it 
now is. The portrait of the Ettrick Shepherd by the same ai-tist is also 
in Mr. Blackwood's possession. 



Pride has a Fall. 149 

crap-sick as he druve his chariot along the Great Turnpike 
Road o' Heaven. 

North. I wish, James, you would write a Tragedy. 

'■Shepherd. I hae ane in my pouch, man — " Mirk Monday." * 

North. No poet of this age has shown sufficient concentra- 
tion of thought and style for tragedy. All the living poets 
are loose and lumbering writers — and I will engage to point 
out half-a-dozen feeblenesses or faults of one kind or another 
in any passage of six lines that you, James, will recite from 
the best of them. 

Shepherd. He's gettin fuddled noo, I see, or he wadna be 
haverin about poetry. — Mr. North, you're as sober as when 
we begood to the saxth jug afore the ane that was the imme- 
diate predecessor o' this jug's great-grandfather — but as for 
me, I'm blin' fou, and rather gizzy. I canna comprehend 
hoo we got into this room, and still less hoo we're to get out 
again — ^for I'll stake my character that there's no ae single 
door in a' the four wa's. I shouldna care gin there was a 
shake-down or a suttee ; but I never could sleep wi' a straught 
back. Mercy on us I the haill side o' the house is fa'en doon, 
as in the great earthquake at Lisbon. Steady — sir — steady — 
that's Mr. Awmrose — -you ken Mr. Awmrose. (Awmrose, he's 
far gane the nicht, and I'm feered the fresh air'll coup and 
capsize him a'thegither.) 

North. Mr. Ambrose, don't mind me — ^give Mr. Hogg your 
arm. James, remember there are a couple of steps. There 
now — I thought Pride would have a Fall at last, James ! 
Ndw, coachy ! ! drive to the devil. [^Exeunt. 

* The sun was totally eclipsed on Monday the 24th March 1652 ; hence tha 
ex^xQ&sion Mirk Monday . 



xn. 

IN WHICH THE SHEPHERD PAINTS HIS WN POR- 

TRAIT. 

Scene, — Amh'ose's Hotel, Picardy Place — Paper Parlor, 

North. — Tickler. — Shepherd. 

North, Doctors are generally dull dogs ; and nobody in 
tolerable health and spirits wishes to hear anything about 
them and their quackeries. 

Tickler. Their faces are indeed at all times most absurd ; 
but more especially so when they are listening to your 
account of yourself, and preparing to prescribe for your 
inside, of which the chance is that they know no more than 
of the interior of Africa. 

North. And yet, and yet, ray dear Tickler, when old bucks 
like us are out of sorts, then, like sinners with saints, we 
trust to the sovereign efficacy of their aid, and feel as if they 
stood between us and death. There's our beloved Shepherd, 
whose wrist beats with a yet unfelt pulse — 

Shepherd. I dinna despise the doctors. In ordinary com- 
plaints I help mysel out o' the box o' drogs ; and I'm never 
mair nor three days in gettin richt again ; — the first day, for 
the beginning o' the complaint — dull and dowie, sair gien to 
gauntin, and the streekin out o' ane's arms, rather touchy in 
the temper, and no easily satisfied wi' onything ane can get 
to eat ; — the second day, in bed, wi' a nicht-cap on, or a 

150 



lite Delight of Recovery. 151 

worsted stockin about the chafts, shiverin ilka half-hour 
aneath the blankets, as if cauld water were pourin douii 
your back ; a stamach that scunners at the very thocht o' 
fude, and a sair sair head, amaist as if a wee deevil were 
sittin in't knappin stanes wi' an airn hammer ; — the third 
day, about denner-time hungrier than a pack o' hounds, yokin 
to the haggis afore the grace, and in imagination mair than 
able to devour the haill jiget, as weel's the giblet-pie and the 
pancakes. 

North. And the fourth day, James ? 

Shepherd. Out wi' the grews gin it be afore the month o* 
March, as souple and thin in the flanks as themsels — ^wi' as 
gleg an ee — and lugs pricked up ready for the start o' pussie 
frae amang the windle-straes. — Halloo — halloo — halloo ! — 
Oh, man, arena ye fond o' coorsin ? 

Tickler. Of hare-soup I am — or even roasted hare — but — 

Shepherd. There are some things that a man never gets 
accustomed to, and the startin o' a hare's ane o' them ; — so 
is the whurr o' a covey o' paitricks — and aiblins so is the 
meetin o' a bonny lassie a' by hersel amang the bloomiu 
heather, when she seems to rise up frae the earth, or to hae 
drapped doun frae heaven. — Were I to leeye ten thousan' 
years, and gang out wi' the grews or pointers every ither 
day, I sud never get the better o' the dear delightfu' dirl o' 
a fricht, when pussie starts wi' her lang horns. 

North. Or the covey whirrs — 

Tickler. Or the bonny lassie — 

Shepherd. Oh, man, Tickler, but your face the noo is just 
like the face o' a satyr in a pictur-byuck, or that o' an auld 
stane-monk keekin frae a niche in the corner o' an abbey wa' 
— the leer o' the holy and weel-fed scoonrel's een seemin 
mair intense on the Sabbath, when the kirkyard is fu' o' 
innocent young maidens, trippin ower the tombs to the 



152 Wordsworth drinks Water. 

House o' Prayer ! Mr. North, sir, only look at the face o' 
him ! 

North. Tickler, Tickler, give over that face — it is absolutely 
getting like Hazlitt's. "We will, if you please, James, take 
each a glass — all round — of Glenlivet — to prevent infection. 

Shepherd. Wi' a' my heart. — Sic a change in the expression 
o' your twa faces, sirs ! Mr. North, you look like a man that 
has just received a vote o' thanks for ha'in been the instru- 
ment o' some great national deliverance. — Isna that wonderfu' 
whisky ? — As for you, Mr. Tickler, — your een's just like twa 
jaspers — pree'd ye ever the like o't ? 

North. Never, so help me Heaven ! — never, since I was 
born ! 

Shepherd. Wordsworth tells the world, in ane o' his pre- 
faces, that he is a water-drinker — and it's weel seen on him. 
— There was a sair want of speerit through the haill o' yon 
lang " Excursion." If he had just made the paragraphs 
about ae half shorter, and at the end of every ane taen a 
caulker, like ony ither man engaged in geyan sair and heavy 
wark, think na ye that his " Excursion " would hae been 
far less fatiguesome ? 

Tickler. It could not at least well have been more so, 
James, — and I devoutly hope that that cursed old Pedlar 
is defunct. Indeed, such a trio as the poet himself, the pack- 
man, and the half-witted annuitant—- 

North. My friend Wordsworth has genius, but he has no 
invention of character — no constructiveness, as we phrenolo- 
gists say. 

Shepherd. He, and ither folk like him, wi' gude posts and 
pensions, may talk o' drinkin water as muckle's they choose 
— and may abuse me and the like o' me for preferrin speerits 
— but — 

North. Nobody is abusing you, my dear Shepherd — 



Hogg prefers " Speerits." 153 

Shepherd. Haud your tongue, Mr. North — for I'm geyan 
angry the noo-r-and I canna thole being interrupted when 
I'm angry, — sae haud your tongue, and hear me speak, — and 
faith, gin some folk were here, they should be made to hear 
on the deafest side o' their heads. 

North. Oyez ! Oyez ! Oyez ! 

Shepherd. Well, then, gentlemen, it cannot be unknown to 
you that the water-drinking part of the community have not 
scrupled to bestow on our meetings here, on the Noctes Am- 
brosianse, the scurrilous epithet of Orgies ; and that I, the 
Shepherd, have come in for the chief part of the abuse. I 
therefore call on you, Mr. North, to vindicate my character to 
the public — to speak truth and shame the devil — and to 
declare in Maga, whether or not you ever saw me once the 
worse of liquor during the course of your career ? 

North. Is it possible, my dearest friend, that you can trouble 
your head one moment about so pitiful a crew ? That jug, 
James, with its nose fixed upon your's, is expressing its sur- 
prise tliat — 

Ticlder. Hogg, Hogg, this is a weakness which I could not 
have expected from you. — Have you forgotten how the SjDec- 
tator, and Sir Roger de Coverley, and others, were accused of 
wine-bibbing and other enormities by the dunces of those days ? 

Shepherd. Confound their backbiting malignity ! Is there 
a steadier hand than that in a' Scotland ? — see how the liquid 
quivers to the brim, and not a drop overflowing. — Is my nose 
Ted ? my broo blotched ? my een red and rheumy ? my shanks 
shrunk ? my knees, do they totter "^ or does my voice come 
from my heart in a crinkly cough, as if the lungs were rotten ? 
Bring ony ane o' the base water-drinkers here, and set him 
doun afore me, and let us discuss ony subject he likes, and 
see whase head's the clearest, and whase tongue wags wi' 
maist unfalterin freedom ? 



154 The Sheplterd's Lifa. 

North. The lirst thing, James, the water-drinker would do^ 
would be to get drunk, and make a beast of himself. 

Shepherd. My life, Mr. North, as you ken, has been ane of 
some vicissitudes, and even now I do not eat the bread of 
idleness. For .ae third o' the twenty^four hours, tak ae day 
wi' anither throughout the year, I'm i' the open air, wi' 
heaven's wind and rain, perhaps, or its hail and sleet, and they 
are blessed by the hand that sends them, blashing against me 
on the hill. — For anither third, I am at my byucks — no mony 
o' them, to be sure, in the house — but the few that are, no the 
wark o' dunces, ye may believe that ; or aiblins doin my best 
to write a byuck o' my ain, or if no a byuck, siccan a harm- 
less composition as ane o' my bits o' '' Shepherd's Calendars," 
or the like ; — or, if study hae nae charms, playing wi' the 
bairns, or hearing them their lessons, or crackin wi' a neigh- 
bor, or sittin happy wi' the mistress by our ain twa sels, 
sayin little, but thinkin a hantle, and feelin mair. For the 
remaining third, frae ten at nicht to sax in the morning, 
enjoying that sweet sound sleep that is the lot o' agude con- 
science, an dout o' which I come as regular at the verra same 
minute as if an angel gently lifted my head frae the pillow, 
and touched ray eyelids with awakening licht, — no forgettin, 
as yoursel kens, Mr.North, either evening or morning prayers, 
no verra lang anes to be sure, except on the Sabbath ; but as 
I hope for mercy, humble and sincere, as the prayers o' as 
sinfu' beings should ever be — sinfu', and at a' times, sleepin 
or waukin, aye on the brink o' death ! Can there be ony 
great harm, Mr. North, in a life that — saving and excepting 
always the corrupt thochts o' a man's ain heart, which has 
been wisely said to be desperately wicked — even when it micht 
think itsel, in its pride, the verra perfection o' virtue — 

North. I never left Altrive or Mount Benger, James, with- 
out feeling myself a better and a wiser man. 



The Shepherd's Temperance. 155 

Shepherd. Nae man shall ever stop a nicht in my house, 
without partakin o' the best that's in't, be't meat or drink ; 
and if the coof ^canna drink three or four tummlers or jugs 
o' toddy, he has nae business in the Forest. But if he do 
nae mair than follow the example I'se set him, he'll rise in 
the morning without a headache, and fa' to breakfast, no 
wi' that fause appeteet that your drunkards yoke on to the 
butter and bread wi', and the eggs, and the ham and baddies, 
as if they had been shipwrecked in their sleep, and scoured 
wi' the salt water, — but wi' that calm, sane, and steady 
appeteet, that speaks an inside sound in a' its operations as 
clockwork, and gives assurance o' a lang and usefu' life, and 
a large family o' children. 

North. Replenish the dolphin, James. 

Shepherd. She's no toom f yet. — Now, sir, I ca' that no an 
abstemious life — for why should ony man be abstemious ? — 
but I ca't a temperate life, and o' a' the virtues, there's nane 
mair friendly to man than Temperance. 

Tickler. That is an admirable distinction, James. 

Shepherd. Tve seen you f orget it, sir, howsomever, in prac- 
tice — especially in eatin. Oh, but you're far frae a temperate 
eater, Mr. Tickler. You're ower fond o' a great heap o' 
different dishes at denner. I'm within boun's when I say 
I hae seen you devour a dizzen. For me, sufficient is the 
Rule of Three. ' I care little for soop — ^imless kail, or cocky- 
leeky, or hare-soop, or mock-turtle, which is really, con- 
siderin it's only mock, a pleasant platefu' ; or hodge-podge, 
or potawto-broth, wi' plenty o' mutton-banes, and weel 
peppered ; but your white soops, and your broon soops, and 
your vermisilly, I think naething o', and they only serve to 
spoil without satisfyin a gude appeteet, of which nae man 
o' senses will ever tak aff the edge afore he attacks a dish 

* Coo/— ninny. t 7\>o;n— empty. 



\^6 The Shepherd's Tolerance. 

that is in itself a denner. I like to bring the haill power 
o' mj stamach to bear on vittles that's worthy o't, and no to 
fritter't awa on side-dishes, sic as pates, and trash o' that 
sort, only fit for board in-school misses, wi' wee shrimpit 
mouths, no able to eat muckle, and ashamed to eat even 
that ; a' covered wi' blushes, puir things, if ye but offer to 
help onything ontil their plates, or to tell them no to mind 
folk starin, but to mak a gude denner, for that it will do 
them nae harm, but, on the contrary, mingle roses with the 
lilies of their delicate beauty. 

Tickler. Every man, James, is the best judge of what he 
ought to eat, nor is one man entitled to interfere — 

Shepherd. Between another man and his own stomach ! 
— Do you mean to say that? Why, sir, that is even 
more absurd than to say that no man has a right to 
interfere between another and his owu conscience, or 
his — 

Tickler. And is that absurd ? 

Shepherd. Yes, it is absurd — although it has, somehow or 
other, become an apothegm. — It is not the duty of all men, 
to the best o' their abilities to enlighten ane aaither's under- 
standings ? And if I see my brethren o' mankind fa' into a' 
sorts o' sins and superstitions, is't nae business o' mine, think 
ye, to endeavor to set them right, and enable them to act 
according to the dictates o' reason and nature ? — Hae ye read 
Boaden's Life o' Siddons, sir? 

North, I have, James — and I respect Mr. Boaden for his 
intelligent criticism. He is rather prosy, occasionally — but 
why not ? God knows, he cannot be more prosy, than I am 
now at this blessed moment — yet what good man, were he 
present now, would be severe upon old Christopher for 
havering away about tliis, that, or t'other thing, so long as 
there was heart in all he said, and nothing contra honos 



Mrs. Siddons as Lady Macbeth. 157 

mores ? Sarah was a glorious creature. Methinks I see her 
now in the sleep-walking scene ! 

Shepherd. As Ledcly Macbeth ! Her gran', high, straicht- 
nosed face, whiter than ashes ! Fixed een, no like the 
een o' the dead, yet hardly mair like them o' the lee^vin; 
dim and yet licht wi' an obscure lustre, through which 
the tormented sowl looked in the chains o' sleep and dreams 
wi' a' the distraction o' remorse and despair, — and oh ! 
sic an expanse o' forehead for a warld o' dreadfu' thochts, 
aneath the braided blackness o' her hair, that had never- 
theless been put up wi' a steady and nae uncarefu' haun 
before the troubled Leddy had lain doun, for it behooved 
ane so high-born as she, in the middle o' her ruefu' trouble, 
no to neglect what she owed to her stately beauty, and 
to the head that lay on the couch of ane o' Scotland's 
Thanes — noo likewise about to be, during the short space o' 
the passing o' a thunder-cloud, her bluidy and usurping 
King. 

North. Whisht — Tickler — whisht-— no coughing. 

Shepherd. Onwards she used to come — no Sarah Siddons — 
but just Leddy Macbeth hersel — though through that melan- 
choly masquerade o' passion, the spectator aye had a con- 
fused glimmerin apprehension o' the great actress — ^glidin 
wi' the ghostlike motion o' nicht-wandering unrest, uncon- 
scious o' surroundin objects, — for oh ! how could the glazed 
yet gleamin een see aught in this material world ? — yet, by 
some mysterious power o' instinct, never touchin ane o' the 
Impediments that the furniture o' the auld castle micht hae 
opposed to her haunted footsteps, — on she came, wrings 
wrinofin her hauns, as if washin them in the cleansin dews 
frae the blouts o' blood, — but wae's me for the murderess, 
out they wad no be, ony mair than the stains on the 
spat o' the floor where some midnicht- slain Christian 



158 Pastoral Poetry, 

has groaned out his soul aneath the dagger's stroke, 
when the sleepin hoose heard not the shriek o' departing 
life. 

Tickler, North, look at James's face. Confound me, 
under the inspiration of the moment, if it is not like John 
Kemble's ! 

Shepherd. Whether a' this, sirs, was natural or not, ye see 
I dinna ken, because I never beheld onj woman, either 
gentle or semple, walkin in her sleep after having committed 
murder. But, Lord safe us ! that hollow, broken-hearted 
voice, "Out, damned spot," was o' itsel aneuch to tell to a' 
that heard it, that crimes done in the flesh during time will 
needs be punished in the spirit during eternity. It was a 
dreadfu' homily yon, sirs ; and wha that saw't would ever 
ask whether tragedy or the stage was moral, purging the 
soul, as she did wi' pity and wi' terror ? 

North. James, I'll tell you a kind of composition that 
would tell. 

Shepherd. What is't, man ? Let's hear't. 

North. Pastoral Dramatic Poetry, partly prose and partly 
verse — ^like the " Winter's Tale," or " As You Like It," or 
" The Tempest," or " The Midsummer-Night's Dream." 

Tickler. Dramas of which the scenes are laid in the country 
cannot be good, for the people have no character. 

Shepherd, Nae character's better than a bad ane, Mr. 
Tickler ; — but you see, sir, you're just perfectly ignorant o' 
what you're talkin about — ^for it's only kintra-folk that has 
ony character ava, — and town's-bodies seem to be a' in a 
slump. Hoo the street rins wi' leevin creatures, like a 
stream rinnin wi' foam-bells ! What maitter if they a' break 
as they gang by ? For another shoal succeeds o' the same 
empty race ! 

North, The passions in the country, metbinks, James, are 



To 1071 a7id Country Passions. 159 

stronger and bolder, and naore distinguishable from eacb 
other, than in the towns? 

Shepherd. Deevil a passion's in the town, but envy, and 
backbiting, and conceitedness. As for friendship, or love, 
or hate, or revenge — ye never meet wi' them where men and 
women are a' jumbled througliither, in what is ca'd ceevi- 
leesed society. In solitary places, the sicht o' a human face 
aye brings wi't a corresponding feeling o' some kind or ither 
— there can be nae sic thing as indifference in habitations 
stannin here and there, in woods and glens, and on hill-sides 
and the shores o' lochs or the sea. 

Tickler. Are no robberies, murders, and adulteries perpe- 
trated in towns, James ? 

Shepherd. Plenty — and because there are nae passions to 
guard frae guilt. What man wi' a sowl glowin wi' the free 
feelings o' nature, and juade thereby happy and contented, wi' 
his plaid across his breast, would condescend to be a highway 
robber, or by habit and repute a thief ? What man, whose 
heart loupt to his mouth whenever he forgathered wi' his ain 
lassie, and never preed her bonny mou' but wi' a whispered 
benediction in her ear, wad at ance damn and demean himsel 
by breaking the seventh commandment .'' As for committing 
murder, leave that to the like o' Thurtell and Probert, and 
the like, wlia seem to have had nae passions o' ony kind but 
a passion for pork-chops and porter, drivin in gigs, weann 
rough big-coats wi' a dizzen necks, and cuffin ane anither's 
heads wi' boxin-gloves on their neives, — but nae real South- 
kintra shepherd ever was known to commit murder, for 
they're ower fond o' fechtin at fair, and kirns, and the like, 
to tak the trouble o' puttin ye to death in cool blood — 

Tickler. James, would you seriously have North to write 
dramas about the loves of the lower orders — men in corduroy 
breeches, and women in linsey-wooUen petticoats — 



160 Tickler is chastised. 

Shepherd. Wha are ye, sir, to speak o' the lower orders ? 
Look up to the sky, sir, on a starry nicht, and puir, ignorant 
thochtless, upsettin cretur you'll be, gin you dinna feel, fa,r 
within and deep doun your ain sowl, that you are, in good 
-^ruth, ane o' the lower orders — no perhaps o' men, but o' 
intelligences ! and that it requires some dreadfu' mystery, far 
beyond your comprehension, to mak you worthy o' ever in 
after life becoming a dweller among those celestial mansions. 
Yet think ye, sir, that thousan's and tens o' thousan's o' 
millions, since the time when first God's wrath smote the 
earth's soil with the curse o' barrenness, and human creatures 
had to earn their bread wi' sweat and dust, haena lived and 
toiled, and laughed and sighed, and groaned and grat, o' the 
lower orders, that are noo in eternal bliss, and shall sit above 
you and Mr. North, and ithers o' the best o' the clan, in the 
realms o' heaven ! 

Tickler. 'Pon my soul, James, I said nothing to justify this 
tirade. 

Shepherd. You did, though. Hearken till me, sir. If there 
be no agonies that wring the hearts of men and women lowly 
born, why should they ever read the Bible ? If there be no 
heavy griefs makin aftentimes the burden o' life hard to 
bear, what means that sweet voice callin on them to " come 
unto me, for I will give them rest ? " If love, strong as 
death, adhere not to yon auld widow's heart, while sairly 
bowed down, till her dim een canna see the lift but only 
the grass aneath her feet, hoo else would she or could she 
totter every Sabbath to kirk, and wi' her broken, feeble and 
quiverin voice, and withered hands clasped together on her 
breast, join, a happy and a hopef u' thing, in the holy Psalm ? 
If— 

Tickler. James, you affect me, but less by the pictures 
you draw, than by the suspicion — nay, more than the 



A Hero in Corduroys. 161 

suspicion — you intimate that I am insensible to these 
things — 

Shepherd. I refer to you, Mr. North, if he clidna mean, by 
what he said about corduroy breeks and linsey-woollen 
petticoats, to throw ridicule on all that wore them, and to 
assert that nae men o' genius, like you or me, ought to 
regard them as worthy o' being charactereezed in prose or 
rhyme ? 

North. My dear James, you have put the argument on 
an immovable basis. Poor, lonely, humble people, who live 
in shielings, and huts, and cottages, and farmhouses, have 
souls worthy of being saved, and therefore not unworthy of 
being written about by such authors as have also souls 
to be saved ; among whom you and I, and Tickler him- 
self— 

Shepherd. Yes, yes — Tickler himself, sure aneuch. Gie's 
your haun, Mr. Tickler, gie's your haun — we're baith in the 
right ; for I agree wi' you, that nae hero o' tragedy or a 
Yepic should be brought forrit ostentatiously in corduroy 
breeks, and that, I suppose, is a' you intended to say ? 

Tickler. It is, indeed, James ; I meant to say no more. 

Shepherd. Surely, Mr. North, you'll no allow anither spring 
to gang by without comin out to the fishing? I dinna under- 
staun' your aye gaun up to the Cruick-Inn in Tweedsmuir. 
The Yarrow Trouts are far better eatin — and they mak far 
better sport, too — loupin out the linns in somersets like 
tumblers frae a spring-brod , head-ower-heels, — and gin your 
pirn doesna rin free, snappin aff your tackle, and doun wi' a 
plunge four fathom deep i' the pool, or awa like the shadow 
o' a hawk's wing alang the shallows. 

North. Would you believe it^my dear Shepherd, that my 
piscatory passions are almost dead within me ; and I like now 
to saunter along the banks and braes, eyeing the younkers 



162 A Bloody-minded Angler. 

angling, or to lay me down on some sunny spot, and with my 
face up to heaven, watch the slow-changing clouds ! 

Shepherd. I'll no believe that, sir,till I see't — and scarcely 
then — for a bluidier-miuded fisher nor Christopher North 
never threw a hackle. Your creel fu', — your shootin-bag fu' 
• — your jacket-pouches fu', the pouches o' your verra 
breeks fu', — half-a-dozen wee anes in your waistcoat, no 
to forget them in the croon o' your hat, — and, last o' a,' when 
there's nae place to stow awa ony mair o' them, a willow- 
wand drawn through the gills of some great big anes, like 
them ither folk would grup wi' the worm or the mennon — 
but a' gruppit wi' the flee — Phin's * delight, as you ca't, — a 
killin inseck, — and on gut that's no easily broken, — witness 
yon four-pounder aneath Elibank wood, where your line, sir, 
got entangled wi' the auld oak-root, and yet at last ye landed 
him on the bank, wi' a' his crosses and his stars glitterin like 
gold and silver amang the gravel ! I confess, sir, you're the 
king o' anglers. But dinna tell me that you have lost your 
passion for the art ; for we never lose our passion for ony 
pastime at which we coiitinue to excel. 

Tickler. Now that you two have begun upon angling, I 
shall ring the bell for my nightcap. 

Shepherd. What ! do you sleep wi' a nichtcap ? 

Tickler. Yes, I do, James — and also with 'a nightshirt — 
extraordinary as such conduct may appear to some people. I 
am a singular character, James, and do many odd things, 
which, if known to the public, would make the old lady turn 
up the whites of her eyes in astonishment. 

Shepherd. Howsomever that be, sir, dinna ring for a nicht- 
cap, for we're no gaun to talk ony mair about angling ! We 
baith hae our weakness, Mr. North and me ; — but there's 

* Pliin was an approved artificer of fishing tackle. The shop still exists, 
and sustains its anoient reputation. 



Ambrose and the Oysters. 163 

Mr. Awmrose — {Miter Mr. Ambrose). — Bring supper, Mr. 
Awmrose — ^verra weel, sir, I thank ye — hoo hae you been 
yoursel, and hoo's a' wi' the wife and weans ? Whenever 
you like, sir; the sooner the better. [_Exit Mr. Ambrose. 

Tickler. No yawning, James, — a barn-door's a joke to such 
jaws. 

North. Give us a song, my dear Shepherd — " Paddy o' 
Rafferty," or " Low doun i' the Broom," or " O Jeanie, 
there's naething to fear ye," or " Love's like a dizziness," 
or " Rule Britannia," or " Aiken Drum," or — 

Tickler. Beethoven, they say, is starving in his native 
country, and the Philharmonic Society of London, or some 
other association with music in their souls, have sent him a 
hundred pounds to keep him alive — ^he is deaf, destitute, and 
a paralytic. — Alas ! alas ! 

Shepherd. Whisht ! I hear Mr. Awmrose's tread in the 
transe ! — 

** His verra foot has music in't 
Afl he comes up the stair," 

{Enter Mr. Ambrose and Assistants.) 
Hoo mony hunder eisters are there on the brod, Mr. Awm- 
rose ? — Oh ! ho ! Three brods ! — One for each o' us ! — A 
month without an R has nae richt being in the year. Noo, 
gentlemen, let naebody speak to me for the neist half-hour. 
Mr. Awmrose, we'll ring when we want the rizzers — and the 
toasted cheese — and the deevil'd turkey. — Hae the kettle on 
the boil, and put back the lang haun o' the clock, for I fear 
this is Saturday nicht, and nane o' us are folk to break in on 
the Sabbath. Help Mr. North to butter and bread, — and 
there, sir, there's the vinnekar cruet. Pepper awa, gents. 



XIII. 

IN WHICH TICKLER SECURES THE CALF, AND THE 

SHEPHERD THE BONASSdS. 

'Scene I. — Porch of Buchanan Lodge. Time, — Evening. 

Mrs. Gentle. — Miss Gentle. — Shepherd. — Colonel 
Cyril Thornton.* — Tickler. 

Shepherd. 1 just ca' this perf ec' Paradise. Oh ! Mem ! but 
that's the natest knitting ever blessed the een o' man. Is't 
for a veil to your dochter's bonny face ? I'm glad it's no 
ower deep, sae that it winna hide it a'thegither — for sure 
amang sic a party o' freens as this, the young leddy'll forgie 
me for saying at ance, that there's no a mair beautifu' cretur 
in a' Scotland. 

Mrs. Gentle. See,Mr. Hogg, how you have made poor Mary 
hang down her head — but you Poets — 

Shepherd. Breathe and hae our beings in love, and delight 
in the fair and innocent things o' this creation. Forgie me, 
Miss Gentle, for bringing the blush to your broo — like sun- 
light on snaw — for I'm but a simple shepherd, and whiles 

* Captain Thomas Hamilton, an early contributor to Blackwood'' $ Maga- 
zine, and author of the admirable novel, The Youth and Manhood of Cyril 
Thornton, was the younger brother of Sir William Hamilton, Bart., Pro 
f essor of Logic and Metaphysics in the University of Edinburgh. His other 
works are, Men and Manners in America, and Annals of the Peninsular 

Campaigns. He died at Florence in 1842. 
161 



The Shepherd and the WasjJ. 165 

says things I sudna say, out o' the very fulness of my 
heart. 

Mrs. Gentle. Mary, fetch my smaller shuttle from the par- 
lor — it is lying, I believe, on one of the cushions of the 
yellow sofa. [Miss Gentle retires. 

Shepherd. Oh ! Mem ! that my ain dochter may grow up, 
"under the blessing o' God, sic a flower ! I've often heard tell 
o' you and her — and o' Mr. North's freenship o' auld for her 
father — 

Worth. Hallo, James — there's a wasp running along your 
shoulder in the direction of your ear ! 

Shepherd. A wasp — say ye ? Whilk shouther ? Ding't 
aff, some o' ye. Wull nane o' ye either speak or stir ? Whilk 
shouther, I say ? Confoun' ye, Tickler — ye great heigh ne'er 
doweel, wunna ye say whilk shouther ? Is't aff ? 

Tickler. Off ! No, James, that it isn't. How it is pricking 
along, like an armed knight, up the creases of your neckcloth ! 
Left chin — Shepherd. 

Mrs. Gentle. Allow me, Mr. Hogg, to remove the unwelcome 
visitor. (Mrs. Gentle rises and scares the loasp with her 
handkerchief.) 

Shepherd. That's like a leddy, as you are. There's nae 
kindness like kindness frae the haun o' a woman. 

Tickler. He was within an inch o' your ear, Hogg, and had 
made good his entrance, but for the entanglement of the 
dusty whisker. 

Shepherd. That's no a word, sir, to speak afore a leddy. It's 
coorse. But you're wrang again, sir, for the wasp cudna hae 
made gude his entrance by that avenue, for my left lug's 
stuffed wi' cotton. 

North. How happens it, my dear James, that on coming to 
town you are never without a cold ? That country will kill 
you — we shall be losing you, James, some day, of a brain-fever. 



166 TJie Shepherd's Wig. 

Shepherd. A verra proper death for a poet. But it's just 
your ain vile, vapory, thick, dull, yellow, brown, dead, 
drizzling, damned (beg you pardon, Mem) easterly haur o' 
Embro' that gies me the rheumatics. In the country I think 
naething o' daundering awa to the holms, without my bannet, 
or onything around my chafts — even though it sud be raining 
— and the weather has nae ither effec' than to gar my hair 
grow. 

North. You must have been daundering about a good deal 
lately, then, my dear James, for I never saw you with such a 
crop of hair in my life. 

Shepherd. It's verra weel for you that's bald to tauk about 
a crap o' hair. But the mair hair a man has on his head the 
better, as lang's it's tousy — and no in candle-wick fashion. 
What say ye, Corrnall ? for, judging frae your ain pow, you're 
o' my opinion. 

C. Cyril Thornton. I see, Mr. Hogg, that we both patronize 
Macassar. 

Shepherd. What ? Macaw ser ile ? Deevel a drap o't ever 
wat my weeg — nor never sail. It's stinkin stuff — as are a' the 
lies and gies an unwholesome and unnatural greasy glimmer 
to ane's hair, just like sae muckle creesh. 

0. Cyril Thornton. 'Pon my honor, my dear Mr. Hogg, I 
never suspected you of a wig. 

Shepherd. Hoots, man, I was metaphorical. It's a weeg o' 
nature's weavin. {Re-enter Miss Gentle with a small ivory 
shuttle in her hand.) Come awa — come awa, Mem — here's 
an empty seat near me. (Miss Gentle sits down heside the 
Shepherd.) And I'll noo praise your beauty ony mair, for I 
ken that maidens dinna like blushing, bonny as it makes 
them ; but dinna think it was ony flattery — for gif it was the 
last word I was ever to speak in this warld, it was God's 
truth, but no the half o' the truth ; and when ye gaed ben 



Cyril Tliornton. 167 

the house, I ciidna help saying to your Leddy Mother, hoc 
happy and mair than happy would I be had I sic a dochter. 
{Enter Peter.) Peter, my braw man, Mr, North is ordering 
you to bring but * a bottle o' primrose wine. {Exit Peter.) 
Wae's me, Mr. North, but I think Peter's lookin auld-like. 

North. Like master like man. 

(J. Cyril Tliornton. Nay, nay, sir — I see little or no change 
on you since I sold out, and that, as you know, was the year 
in which the Allied armies were in Paris. 

Shepherd. Weel — I declare, Corrnall, that I'm glad to hear 
your voice again — for, as far as I ken you on ower short an 
acquaintance, I wush it had heen langer — but plenty o' life 
let us houp, is yet afore us. You hae but only ae faut — and 
that's no a common ane — you dinna speak haK aneuch as 
muckle's your freens could desire. Half aneuch, did I say — 
na, no a fourth pairt — but put a pen intil your haun, and 
you ding the best o' us. Oh ! man ! but your Memoirs o' 
your Youth and Manhood's maist interestin. I'm no speakin 
as a critic, and hate phrasin onybody — but you's no a whit 
inferior, as a whole, to my ain " Perils." 

C. Cyril Thornton. Allow me to assure you, Mr. Hogg, that 
I am fully sensible both of the value and the delicacy of the 
compliment. Many faults in style and composition your 
practised and gifted eye could not fail to detect, or I ought 
rather, in all humility to say, many such faults must have 
forced themselves upon it ; but I know well, at the same 
time, that the genius which delights the whole world by its 
own creations is ever indulgent to the crudities of an ordinary 
mind, inheriting but feeble powers from nature, and those, as 
you know, little indebted to art, during an active life that 
afforded but too few opportunities for their cultivation. 

Shepherd. Feeble poo'rs ! Ma faith, Corrnall, there's nae 

* Bring hiit is bring out, as bring hen is bring in. 



168 Cyril Thornton. 

symptoms o' feeble poo'rs yonner — you're a strong-thinking^ 
strong-feeling, strong-writing, strong-actin, and let me add, 
notwithstanding the want o' that airm that's missin, strong- 
looking man as is in a' his Majesty's dominions — either in the 
ceevil or military depairtment — and the cleverest fallow in a' 
Britain micht be proud to father yon three volumes. Phrasin's 
no my faut — it lies rather the ither way. They're just perfeckly 
capital — and what I never saw afore in a' my born days, and 
never houp to see again, as sure as ocht,* the thrid volumm's 
the best o' the three, — the story, instead o' dwinin awa intil 
a consumption, as is the case wi' maist lang stories that are 
seen gaun backwarts and forrits, no kennin what to do wi' 
themsels, and loosin their gate as sune as it gets dark — grows 
stouter and baulder, and mair confident in itsel as it proceeds 

" Veerace aqueerit yeiindo,"t 

till at last it soums up a' its haill poo'rs for a satisfactory 
catastrophe, and gangs aff victoriously into the land o' Finis 
in a soun' like distant thunner, or to make use o' a martial 
simile, sin' I'm speakin to a sodger, like that o' a discharge o' 
the great guns o' artillery roarin thanks to the welkin for twa 
great simultawneous victories baith by sea and land, on ane 
and the same day. 

North. James, allow me, in the name of Colonel Thornton, 
to return you his very best thanks for your speech. 

Shepherd. Ay — ay — Mr. North — my man — ye needna, after 
that, sir, to try to veyi^yN \tm Blackwood ; or ginyoudo, hae 
the grace to avow that I gied you the germ o' the article, and 
sen' out to Altrive in a letter the twenty guineas a sheet. 

North. It shall be done,$ James. 

* Ocftf— aught, anything. t Vires acqtiirit eundo, 

} Cyril Thornton was reviewed by Professor Wilson in Blackwood's Maga- 
eme,No. CXXVII. 



North oivns that he is a Miser. 169 

Shepherd. Or rather supjoose — to save yourself the trouble 
o' writin, which I ken you detest, and me the postage — you 
just tak out your red-turkey * the noo, and fling me ower a 
twenty-pun' Bank post bill — and for the sake o' auld lang 
syne, you may keep the shillins to yoursel. 

North. The evening is beginning to get rather cold — and I 
feel the air, from the draught of that door, in that painful 
crick of my neck — 

Shepherd. That's a' a flam. Ye hae nae crick o' your 
neck. Oh, sir, you're growin unco hard — just a verra Joseph 
Hume. Speak o' siller, that's to say o' the payin o't awa, 
and you're as deaf 's a nit ; but be there but a whusper o' 
payin't in til your haun, and you're as gleg o' hearin as a 
mowdiewarp.f Isna that true ? 

North. Too true, James — I feel that I am the victim of a 
disease — and of a disease, too, my Shepherd, that can only 
be cured by death — old age — we septuagenarians are all 
misers. 

Shepherd. Oh, struggle against it, sir ! As you love me — 
struggle against it ! Dinna let your imagination settle on 
the stocks. Pass the faldin-doors o' the Royal Bank wi' 
your een shut — sayin a prayer. — Dear me ! — dear mg ! what's 
the maitter wi' Mrs. Gentle ? Greetin, I declare, and wipin 
her een wi' Mi:. North's ain Bandana ! — "^Yhat for are ye 
greetin, Mrs. Gentle ? Hae ye gotten a sudden pain in your 
head? If sae, ye had better gang up-stairs, and lie doun. 

Mrs. Gentle {in tears, and with a faint soli). Mr. Hogg — = 
you know not that man's — that noble — generous — glorious 
man's heart. But for him, what, where, how might I now 
have been — and my poor orphan daughter there at your 
side ? Orphan I may well call her — for when her brave 
father, the General, fell — 

* Pocket-book. t Mowdieivarp — ^mole. 



170 Mrs. Gentles Agitation. 

Shepherd. There's iiae jDunishment ower severe to iuiiick on 
me, Mem. But may I never stir aff this firm,* if I wasna 
a' in jeest ; — ^but there's naething man- dangerous than ill- 
timed daffin — I weel ken that — and this is no the first time 
I hae wounded folks' feelins wi' nae mair thocht or intention 
o' doin sae than — this angel at my side. 

Mrs. Gentle {Peter entering with tea-tray). IMr. Hogg, do 
you prefer black or green tea ? 

Shepherd. Yes — yes — Mem — black and green tea. But 
I'm taukin nonsense. Green — Mem — green — mak it strong 
— and I'll drink five cups, that I may lie awauk a' nicht, and 
repent bringin the saut tear into your ee by my waur than 
stupid nonsense about our benefactor. 

Miss Gentle. Peter, take care of the kettle. 

Shepherd. You're ower kind, Miss Gentle, to bid Peter 
tak care o' the kettle on my account. There's my legs 
stretched out, that the stroop may hiss out it's boilin het 
steam on my shins, by way o' penance for my sin. I'll no 
draw a worsted thread through a single ane o' a' the blis- 
ters. . . . But it'll make us a' mair than happy — me, and 
the mistress, and the weans, and a' our humble household, if 
Mrs. Gentle, you and your dutifu' dochter'll come out to 
Yarrow wi' Mr. North, his verra first visit. Say, Mem, that 
you'll do't. Oh ! promise you'll do't, and we'll a' be haj)py 
as the twenty-second o' June is lang. 

Mrs. Gentle. I promise it, Mr. Hogg, most cheerfully. 
The Peebles Fly— 

Miss Gentle. My mother will make proper arrangements> 
Mr. Hogg, in good time. 

Shepherd. And then, indeed, there will be a Gentle 
Shepherdess in Yarrow. 

North. A vile pmi. 

* Finn — form, beiicli. 



Tickler's G-amhols. 171 

Shepherd. Pun ? Heaven be praised, I never made a pun 
in my life. It's no come to that o't wi' me yet. A manV 
mind must be sair rookit o' tbochts before be bescins in his 
dotage to play upon words. But then, I say, there will be a 
shepherdess in Yarrow ; and the author o' Lichts and Shad- 
ows* who imagines every red-kuted t hizzie he meets to be a 
shepherdess — 

Miss Gentle. Pardon me, sir, the Lights and Shadows are 
extremely beau — 

Shepherd. Nae mair sugar, Mem, in ma cup ; the last was 
rather ower sweet. What was ye gaun to say, Miss Gentle ? 
But nae matter — it's fixed that you're comin out to Altrive 
in the Peebles Fly, and — 

Miss Gentle. The Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life — 

Shepherd. I agree with you. They certainly are. Nobody 
admires the author's genius mair than I do; but — What 
the deevil's become o' Mr. Tickler ? I never missed him till 
this moment. 

North. Yonder he is, James, rolling down the hill all his 
length with my gardener's children ! happy as any imp among 
them — and worrying them in play, like an old tiger acting 
the amiable and paternal with his cubs, whom at another 
hour he would not care to devour. 

Shepherd. Look at him wi' his heels up i' the air, just like 
a horse rollin i' the garse on bein' let out o' the harnesh ! I 
wush he mayna murder some o' the weans in his unwieldy 
gambols. 

North. 'Tis the veriest great boy. Colonel Thornton ! Yet 
as soon as he has got rid of the urchins, you will see him 
come stalking up the gravel walk, with his hands behind 
his back, and his face as grave as a monk's in a cloister, 

* The Lights and Shadoios oj Scottish Life, By Professor Wilson. 
+ Red-kuted — red-ankled. 



172 Tickler and the Calf. 

till, flinging himself into a chair, with a long sigh he 
will exclaim against the vanities of this weary ^vorld, and, 
like the melancholy Jacques himself, moralize on that calf 
yonder — which by the way has pulled up the peg, and set 
oil at a scamper over my beds of tulips. Mr. Tickler — hallo 
— will you have the goodness, now that you are on your 
legs, to tell the children to look after that young son of a 
cow — 

Tickler {running up out of breath). He has quite the look 
of a Puma — see how he handles his tail, and kicks up his 
heels like a D'Egville. Jem — Tommy — Bauldy, my boys, — 
the calf — the calf — the hunt's up — halloo, my lads — halloo ! 

\_Offthey all set. 

Shepherd. Faith, I've aneuch o' rinnin after calves at 
hame. Here I'm on a holiday, and I'll sit still. What's a 
Puma, Mr. North? I never heard tell o' a beast wi' that 
name before. Is it outlandish or indigenous ? 

\_TJie Calf gallops hy in an exhausted state^ tail-on-end, — 
with Tickler, and Jem, Tommy, and Bauldy, the 
gardener's children, in full cry. 

Shepherd. I canna lauch at that — I canna lauch at that ; 
and yet I dinna ken either — yonner's Tickler a' his length, 
haudin fast by the tail, and the calf — it's a desperate strong 
beast for sae young a ane, and a quey * too — harlin him 
through the shrubbery. Haw ! haw ! haw ! haw ! — Oh, 
Corrnall ! but I'm surprised no to hear you lauchin — for my 
sides is like to split. 

G. Cyril Thornton. It is a somewhat singular part of my 
idiosyncrasy, Mr. Hogg, that I never feel the slightest impulse 
to laugh aloud. But I can assure you, that I have derived 
from the view-holla the most intense excitation of tho 
midriff. I never was more amused in my life; and you 

* Qnev—a. young covf. 



The Calf is captured. 173 

had, within mj very soul, a silent accompaniment to your 
guffaw. 

North. These, Cyril, are not the indolent gardens of Epi- 
curus. You see we indulge occasionally in active, even 
violent exercises. 

G. Cyril Thornton. There is true wisdom, Mr. North, in 
that extraordinary man's mind. It has given me much 
pleasure to think that Mr. Tickler should have remembered 
my name — ^for I never had the honor of being in his company 
but once — when I was at the University of Glasgow, in the 
house of my poor old grand-uncle, Mr. Spreull."* Mr. Tickler 
had carried some important mercantile case through your 
law-courts here for Mr. SpreuU, and greatly gratified the old 
gentleman by coming west without ceremony to take pot- 
luck. It was with no little difficulty that we got through 
dinner, for I remember Girzy was so utterly confounded by 
his tout-ensemble, his stature, his tie — for he sported one in 
those days — his gestures, his gesticulations, his jokes, his 
waggery, and his wit, all of a kind new to the West, that she 
stood for many minutes with the tureen of hotch-potch sup- 
ported against her breast, and all her grey goggles fascinated 
as by a serpent, till poor old Mr. Spreull cursed her in his 
sternest style to set it down on the table, that he might ask 
a blessing. 

[Tickler, Jem, Tommy, and Bauldy re-cross the front 

of the Porch in triv.mph with the captive Calf and 

disappear in the rear of the premises. 
Shepherd. He'll be laid up for a week noo, on account o' 
this afternoon's stravagin without his hat, and a' this rowin 
ower braes wi' weans, and a' this gallopin and calf-huntin. 
He'll be a' black and blue the morn's morning, and sae stiff 
that he'll no be able to rise. 

* One of tlie characters in Cyril Thornton. 



1T4 The Ladies rciirti. 

Mrs. Gentle. Mary, we must bid Mr. North and his friends 
good-night. You know we are engaged at ten — 

" And yon bright star has risen to warn us home." 

North. Farewell. 

Shepherd. Faur ye weel, faur ye weel — God bless V' • 
baith — faur ye weel — noo be sure no to forget your promise 
to bring Miss Mary out wi' ye to Ettrick. 

Miss Gentle (^smiling). In the Peebles Fly. 

Shepherd. Na, your father, as ye ca'd him, when ye gied 
his auld wrinkled forehead a kiss, '11 bring you to the Forest 
in his ain cotch-and-four. Faur ye weel — God bless you 
baith — faur ye weel. 

G. Gyril Thornton. Ladies, I wish you good evening. 
Mrs. Gentle, the dews are falling ; allow me to throw my 
fur cloak over you and Miss Gentle ; it is an ancient affair, 
but of the true Merino. — ^You flatter me by accepting it. 

[ Govers Mother and Daughter with his military cloak, 
and they vanish. 

North. Now, James, a single jug of toddy. 

Shepherd. What ! each ? 

North. Each. There comes Tickler, as grave's a judge — 
make no allusion to the chase. (Tickler rejoins the "party?) 
But it is chilly, so let us go into the parlor. I see Peter has 
had the sense to light the candles — and there he goes with a 
pan of charcoal. 

Scene II. — The Pitt Parlcyr. 

Tickler. I fear, Colonel, since you lost your arm, that you 
are no longer a sportsman. 

G. Gyril Thornton, I have given up shooting, although 
Joe Manton constructed a light piece for me, with which I 
generally contrived to hit and miss time about ; but I am a 



North ill Loeh Awe. 175 

devout disciple of Izaak, and was grievously disappointed on 
my arrival t'other day in Kelso, to find another occupier in 
Walton-hall ; but my friend, Mr. Alexander Ballantyne, and 
I, proceed to Peebles on the 1st of June, to decide our bet 
of a rump and dozen, he with the spinning minnow, and I 
with Phin's delight. 

Shepherd. Watty Pitchie'll beat you baith with the May- 
flee, if it be on, or ony length aneath the stanes. 

North. You will be all sorry to hear that our worthy 
friend Watty is laid up with a bad rheumatism, and can no 
longer fish the Megget Water and the lochs, and return to 
Peebles in the same day. 

Shepherd. That's what a* your waders come to at last. 
Had it no been, Mr. North, for your plowterin in a' the rivers 
and lochs o' Scotland, baith saut water and fresh, like a 
Newfoundland dog, or rather a seal or an otter, you needna, 
had that crutch aneath your oxter. Corrnall Cyril, saw ye 
him ever a fishin ? 

O. Cyril Thornton. Never but once, for want of better 
ground, in the Crinan Canal, out of a coal -barge, for braises 
when I was a red-gowned student at Glasgow. 

Shepherd. Oh ! but you should hae seen him in Loch 
Owe, or the Spey. In he used to gang, out, out, and ever 
sae far out frae the pint o' a promontory, sinkin aye furder 
and furder doun, first to the waistband o' his breeks, then up 
to the middle button o' his waistcoat, then to the verra 
breast, then to the oxters, then to the neck, and then to the 
verra chin o' him, sae that you wonnered how he could fling 
the flee, till last o' a' he would plump richt out o' sicht, till 
the Highlander on Ben Cruachan thocht him drooned ; but 
he wasna born to be drooned — no he, indeed — sae he taks to 
the soomin, and strikes awa wi' ae arm, like yoursel, sir — ^for 
the tither had hand o' the rod — and, could ye believe't. 



176 Tkc Shepherd purmhed. 

though it's as true as Scriptur, fishing a' the time, that no a 
moment o' the cloudy day micht he lost ; ettles at an island 
a quarter o' a mile aff, wi' trees, and an old ruin o' a religious 
house, wherein beads used to be coonted, and wafers eaten, 
and mass muttered hundreds o' years ago ; and gettin footin 
on the yellow sand or the green sward, he but gies himsel a 
shake, and ere the sun looks out o' the clud, has hyucket a 
four-poundei*, whom in four minutes (for it's a multiplying 
pirn the cretur uses) he lands gasping through the giant gills, 
and glitterin wi' a thousan' spots, streaks, and stars, on the 
shore. That's a pictur o' North's fishing in days o' yore.* 
But look at him noo — only look at him noo — wi' that auld- 
farrant face o' his, no unlike a pike's, crunkled up in his 
chair, his chin no that unwuUin to tak a rest on his collar- 
bane — the hauns o' him a' covered wi' chalk-stanes — his legs 
like winnle-straes — and his knees but knobs, sae that he 
canna cross the room, far less soom ower Loch Owe, without 
a crutch ; and wunna you join wi' me, Corrnall Cyril, in 
handing up baith your hauns — I aux your pardon, in handing 
up your richt haun — and compairing the past wi' the pres- 
ent, exclaim, amaist sobbin, and in tears, " Vanity o' vani- 
ties ! all is vanity ! " 

North (suddenly hitting the Shepherd over the sconce with 
his crutch). Take that, blasphemer! 

Shepherd [clawing his paw). "Man of age, thou smitest 
sore ! " 

C. Cyril Thornton, Mr. Hogg, North excels at the crutch- 
exercise. 

Shepherd. Put your finger, Corrnall, on here — did you 
ever fin' sic a big clour risen in sae wee a time ? 

♦ Professor Wilson's mode of angling in liis younger days is here painted 
to the life. Even so late as 1849 he was in the habit of wading up to the loina 
In the practice of his favorite pastime. 



Bronte a Ancestry. 177 

C. Cyril Thornton. Never. Mr. North with his crutch, had 
he lived iu the Sylvan Age of Robbery, would have been a 
match for the best of the merry Outlaws of Sherwood. Little 
John would have sung small, and Eobin Hood fancied him 
no more than he did the Pinder of Wakefield. 

She'pherd. That's what's ca'd at Buchanan Lodge cracking 
a practical joke, Corrnall. I maun get Peter to bring me 
some brown paper steep'd in vinegar, or the clour'll be like 
a horn. I scarcely think, even already, that my hat would 
stay on. Oh, sir, but you're desperate cruel. 

North. Not I, my dear James. I knew I had a man to 
deal with : the tenth part of such a touch would have killed 
a Cockney. 

Shepherd. What a bow-wowing's that, thinks ony o' you 
out-by ? 

North. Bronte baying at some blackguards on the outer 
side of the gate. 

Shepherd. Oh ! sir, I've heard tell o' your new Newfound- 
land dowg, and would like to see him. May I ring for 
Peter to lowse him frae his cheen, and bring him ben for 
me to look at ? {Rings the hell — Peter receives his instruc- 
tions.') 

North. Bronte's mother, James, is a respectable female 
who now lives in Claremont Crescent ; his father, who served 
his time in the navy, and was on board Admiral Otway's 
ship when he hoisted his flag in her on the Leith station, 
is now resident, I believe, at Portobello. The couple have 
never had any serious quarrel ; but for reasons best known 
to themselves, choose to live apart. Bronte is at present 
the last of all his race — the heir-apparent of his parents' virtues 
—his four brothers and three sisters having all unfortunately 
perished at sea. 

Shepherd. Did ye ever see onything grow sae fast as a 
Newfoundland whalp ? There's a manifest difference on them 



178 Bronte e^iters. 

between breakfast and denner, and denner and sooper ; and 
they keep growin a' niclit lang. 

North. Bronte promises to stand three feet without his 
shoes — 

Shepherd. I hear him comin— yowf-yowjQ&n as he spangs 
along. I wush he mayna coup that weak-ham'd bodie, Peter. 

[Door opens, and Bronte* bounces in, 

G. Cyril Thornton. A noble animal, indeed, and the very 
image of a dog that saved a drummer of ours, who chose 
to hop overboard, through fear of a flogging in the Bay of 
Biscay. 

North, What do you think of him, James ? 

Shepherd. Think o' him ? I canna think o' him — ^it's 
aneuch to see him — what'n a sao-acious countenance ! Look 
at him lauchin as he observes the empty punch-bowl. His 
back's preceesely on a line wi' the edge o' the table. And 
oh ! but he's bonnily marked — a white ring roun' the neck o' 
him, a white breast, white paws, a white tip o' the tail, and a' 
the rest black as nicht. O man, but you're towsy ! His 
legs, Mr. North, canna be thinner than my airm, and what 
houghs, hips, and theeghs ! I'm leanin a' my haill waght 
upon his back, and his spine bends nae mair than about the 
same as Captain Brown's chain-pier at Newhaven when a 
hundred folk are walking alang't to gang on board the 
steamboat. His neck, too, 's like a bill's — if he was turnin 
o' a sudden at speed, a whap o' his tail would break a man's 
leg. P'echt ! I'se warrant him fecht, either wi' ane o' his 
ain specie, or wi' cattle wi' cloven feet, or wi' the lions 
Nero or Wallace o' Wummell's Menagerie, or wi' the Lord o' 
Creation, Man — by himsel Man ! How he would rug them 
down — dowgs, or soos, or stirks, or lions, or rubbers ! He 

*Bronte was a real character. His life and death, are afterwards commemor- 
ated. 



Bronte s Educatioii. 179 

could kill a man, I verily believe, without ever bitin him — ■ 
just by dounin him wi' the waght o' his body and his paws, 
and then lymg on the tap o' him, growlin to throttle and 
devour him if he mudged. He would do grandly for the 
Monks o' St Bernard to save travellers frae the Snaw. 
Edwin Landseer maun come down to Scotland for anes 
errand, just to pent his pictur, that future ages may ken 
that in the reign o' George the Fourth, and durin the Queer 
Whig-and-Tory Administration, there was such a dowg. 

North. I knew, James, that he was a dog after your own 
heart. 

Shepherd. Oh, sir ! dinna let onybody teach him tricks — ■ 
sic as runnin back for a glove, or standin on his hurdles, or 
loupin out-ower a stick, or snappin bread frae aff his nose, or 
ringin the bell, or pickin out the letters o' the alphabet, like 
ane o' the working classes at a Mechanic Institution, — leave 
a' tricks o' that sort to Spaniels, and Poodles, and Puggies (I 
mean nae reflection on the Peebles Puggie withouten the 
tail, nor yet Mr. Thomas Grieve's Peero), but respec' the 
soul that maun be in that noble, that glorious frame ; and if 
you maun chain him, let him understand that sic restraint is 
no incompawtible wi' liberty ; and as for his kennel, I would 
hae it sclated, and a porch ower the door, even a miniature 
imitation o' the porch o' Buchanan Lodge. 

North. James, we shall bring him with us — along with the 
Gentles — to Altrive. 

Shepherd. Proud wad I be to see him there, sir, and gran' 
soomin wad he get in St. Mary's Loch, and the Loch o' the 
Lowes, and Loch Skene. But — there's just ae objection — 
ae objection — sir — I dinna see how I can get ower't. 

North. The children, James ? Why, he is as gentle as a 
new-dropt lamb. 



180 The Bonassus. 

Shepherd. Na, na — it's no the weans — for Jamie and hia 
sisters would ride on his back — he could easy carry threeple 
— to Yarrow Kirk on the Sabbaths. But — but he would 
fecht with — The Bonassus. 

JSforth. The Bonassus ! What mean ye, Shepherd ? 

Shepherd. I bocht the Bonassus frae the man that had him 
in a show ; and Bronte and him would be for fechtin a duel, 
and baith o' them would be murdered, for neither Bronte nor 
the Bonassus would say "Hold, enough." 

North. Of all the extraordinary freaks, my dear TDard, that 
ever your poetical imagination was guilty of, next to writing 
the Perils of Woman, your purchase of the Bonassus seems 
to me the most miraculous. 

Shepherd. I wanted to get a breed aff him wi' a maist 
extraordinar cow, that's half-blood to the loch-and-river kine 
by the bill's side — and I have nae doubt but that they wull 
be gran' milkers, and if fattened, will rin fifty score a quarter. 
But Bronte mauna come out to Altrive, sir, till the Bonassus 
is dead. 

North. But is the monster manageable, James ? Is there 
no danger of his rebelling against his master ? Then, 
suppose he were to break through, or bound over the stone- 
wall and attack me, as I kept hobbling about the green braes, 
my doom would be sealed. I have stood many a tussle in 
ray day, as you know and have heard, James ; but I am not, 
now, single-handed, a match for the Bonassus. 

Shepherd. The stane- wa's about my farm are rather rickly : 
but he never tries to break them doun as lang's the kye's wi ' 
him, — ^nor do I think he has ony notion o' his ain strength. 
It's just as weel, for wi' yon head and shouthers he could 
ding doun a house. 

(7. Cyril Thornton. How the deuce, Mr Hogg, did you get 



TJie Bonassus. 181 

him from Edinburgh to Altrive ? To look at him, he seemed 
an animal that would neither lead nor drive. 

Shepherd. I bought him, sir, at Selkirk, waggon and a', 
and druv him hame mysel. The late owner tauked big 
aboot his fury and fairceness— and aiblins he was fairce in 
Ills keepin, as weel he micht be, fed on twa bushels o' ingans 
— unnions, that is — per deeam — but as sune as I had him at 
Mount Benger, I backet the waggon a wee doun hill, flang 
open the end door, and out like a debtor frae five years' 
confinement lap the Bonassus — 

Tickler. Was you on the top of the waggon, James ? 

Shepherd. No — that thocht had occurred to me — but I was 
munted, — and the powuey's verra fleet, showin bluid, — and 
aff I set at the gallop — 

Tickler. "With the Bonassus after you — 

Shepherd. Whisht, man, whisht. The poor beast was 
scarcely able to staun' ! He had forgotten the use of his 
legs ! Sae I went up to him, on futt, withouten fear, and 
patted him a' ower. Sair frights some o' the folk frae 
Megget Water got, on first comin on him unawares — and I'm 
telt that there's a bairn ower-by about the side of Moffat 
Water — ^it's a callant — whose mither swarfed at the Bonas- 
sus when she was near the doun-lying, that has a fearsome 
likeness till him in the face ; but noo he's weel kent, and, 
I may say, liked and respeckit through a' the Forest, as a 
peaceable and industrious member o' society. 

North. 1 dread, my dear James, that, independent of the 
Bonassus, it will not be possible for me to be up with you 
before autumn. I believe that I must make a trip to London 
im — 

Shepherd. Ay, ay, — the truth's out noo. The rumor ir: 
the Forest was, that you had been sent for by the King n 
month sin' syne, but wadna gang — and that a sheriff's offi- 



182 A Royal Command. 

sher had been despatched in a chaise-and-four frae Lunnon, 
to bring jou up by the cuff o' the neck, and gin you made 
ony lesistance at the Lodge, to present his pistol. 

North. There are certain secrets, my dearest James, the 
development of which, perhaps, lies beyond even the privi- 
leges of friendship. With you I have no reserve — ^but when 
Majesty — 

Shepherd. Lays its command on a loyal subject, you was 
gaun to say, he maun obey. That's no my doctrine. It's 
slavish-like. You did perfectly richt, sir ; the haill Forest 
swore you did perfectly richt in refusin to stir a futt frae 
your ain fireside, in a free kintra like the auld kingdom o' 
Scotland. Had the King been leevin at Holyrood, it micht 
hae been different ; but for a man o' your years to be harled 
through the snaw — 

North. I insist that this sort of conversation, sir, stop — 
and that what has been now said — most unwarrantedly, 
remember, James — ^go no farther. Do you think, my dear 
Shepherd, that all that passes within the penetralia of the 
Royal breast finds an echo in the rumors of the Forest ? 



" But something too much of this." 



Shepherd. Weel, weel, sir — weel, weel. But dinna look 
sae desperate angry. I canna thole to see a frown on your 
face, it works sic a dreadfu', I had maist said deeabolical 
change on the haill expression o' the faytures. Oh, smile 
sir ! if you please — do, Mr. North, sir, my dear freen, do just 
gie ae bit blink o' a smile at the corner o' your ee or mouth 
— ay, that'll do, Christopher — that'll do. Oh, man. Kit, but 
you was fairce the noo just at naething ava, as folks 
generally is when they are at their faircest, for then their 
rampagin passion meets wi' nae impediment, and keeps feed, 
feed, feedin on itself and its ain heart. But whisht — there's 
thunner ! 



Another jug? 183 

Tickler, Only Mr. Ambrose with the coach I ordered to be 
at the Lodge precisely at one. 

Shepherd. I'm sorry she's come. For I was just beginnin 
to summon up courage to hint the possibility, if no the pro- 
priety, o' anither bowl — or at least a jug. 

G. Cyril Thornton {rising). God bless you, sir, good morn- 
ing — Mr. Ambrose may call it but one o'clock, if it gives him 
any pleasure to think that the stream of time may run counter 
to the moon and stars ; but it is nearer three, and I trust the 
lamps are not lighted needlessly to affront the dawn. Once 
more — God bless you sir. Good morning. 

North. Thursday at six, Cyril — farewell. 

[^Enter Mr. Ambrose to announce the coach. 

Shepherd. Gude-by, sir — dinna get up aff your chair. 
{Aside) Corrnall, he canna rise. The coach '11 drap the 
Corrnall at Awmrose's in Picardy, and me at the Peebles 
Arms, sign o' the Sawmon, Candlemaker Row, — and Mr. 
Tickler at his ain house, Southside — and by then it'll be 
about time for't to return to the stance in George Street. 

O. Cyril Thornton (opening the window-shutters at a nod from 
North). The blaze of day, 

\^Coach drives from the Lodge, rihhons and rod in the hand 
o/*Mr. Ambrose. 



XIV. 

TN WHICH THE SHEPHERD AND TICKLER TAKE TO 

THE WATER 

Scene I. — Two Bathing-machines in the Seaat PortoheUo* 

Shepherd. — Tickler. 

Shepherd. Halloo, Mr. Tickler, are you no ready yet, man ? 
I've been a mother-naked man, in my machine here, for mair 
than ten minutes. Hae your pantaloons got entangled amang 
your heels, or are you saying your prayers afore you plunge ? 

Tickler. Both. These patent long drawers, too, are a con- 
founded nuisance — and this patent short under-shirt. There 
is no getting out of them without greater agility than is 
generally possessed by a man at my time of life. 

Shepherd. Confound a' pawtents. As for mysel, I never 
wear drawers, but hae my breeks lined wi' flannen a' the year 
through ; and as for thae wee short corded under-shirts, that 
clasp you like ivy, I never hae had ane o' them on sin' Inst 
July, when I was forced to cut it aff my back and breast wi' 
a pair o' sheep-shears, after having tried in vain to get out o't 
every morning for twa months. But are ye no ready, sir ? 
A man on the scaffold wadna be allowed sae lang time for 
preparation. The minister or the hangman wad be jugging "f 
him to fling the hankerchief. 

• A bathing quarter near Edinburgh. t Jugging— ^oggLng 

184 



Tickler on the Brink. 185 

Tickler. Hanging, I hold, is a mere flea-bite — 

Shepherd. What ! tae dookin ? — Ilere goes- 

\_The Shepherd ^Zzm^es into the sea. 

Tickler. What the devil has become of James ? He is 
nowhere to be seen. That is but a gull — that only a seal—* 
and that a mere pellock. James, James, James! 

Shepherd {emerging.^ Wha's that roaring ? Stop a wee till 
] get the saut water out o' my een, and my mouth, and my nose, 
and wring my hair a bit. Noo, where are you, Mr. Tickler ? 

Tickler. I think I shall put on my clothes again, James. 
The air is chill ; and I see from your face that the water is 
as cold as ice. 

Shepherd. Oh, man ! but you're a desperate cooart. Think 
shame o' yoursel, stannin naked there, at the mouth o' the 
machine, wi' the haill crew o' yon brig sailin up the Firth 
looking at ye, ane after anither, f rae cyuck to captain, through 
the telescope. 

Tickler. James, on the sincerity of a shepherd and the 
faith of a Christian, lay your hand on your heart, and tell me, 
was not the shock tremendous ? I thought you never would 
have reappeared. 

Shepherd. The shock was naethiug, nae mair than what a 
body feels when waukenin suddenly during a sermon, or fa'in 
ower a staircase in a dream. — But I am aff to Inchkeith. 

Tickler. Whizz. [^Flings a somerset into the sea. 

Shepherd. Ane — twa — three — four — five — sax — seven — 
aught — but there's nae need o' coontin — for nae pearl-diver, 
in the Straits o' Madagascar or aff the coast o' Coromandel, 
can hand in his breath like Tickler. Weel, that's surprisin. 
Yon chaise has gane about half a mile o' gate towards Porty- 
belly sin' he gaed iizzin outower the lugs like a verra rocket. 
Safe us ! what's this gruppin me by the legs ? A sherk — ^a 
sherk — a sherk ! 



186 They start for Inchkeith, 

Techier {yellowing to the surface'). Blabla — blabla — bla— 

Shepherd. He's keept soomin aneath the water till he's 
sick ; but every man for himsel, and God for us a* — I'm aff . 
[Shepherd stretches away to sea in the direction of 
Inchkeith — Tickler in pursuit. 

Tickler. Every sinew, my dear James, like so much wliip 
cord. I swim like a salmon. 

Shepherd. Oh, sir ! that Lord Byron had but been alive 
the noo, what a sweepstakes ! 

Tickler. A Liverpool gentleman has undertaken, James, to 
swim four-and- twenty miles at a stretch. What are the odds ? 

Shepherd. Three to one on Saturn and Neptune. He'll 
get numm. 

Tickler. James, I had no idea you were so rough on the 
back. You are a perfect otter. 

Shepherd. Nae personality, Mr. Tickler, out at sea. I'll 
compare carcases wi' you ony day o' the year. Yet, you're 
a gran' soomer — out o' the water at every stroke, neck, 
breast, shouthers, and half-way doun the back — after the 
fashion o' the great American serpent. As for me, my style 
o' soomin's less showy — laigh and lown — ^less hurry, but mair 
speed. Come, sir, I'll dive you for a jug o' toddy. 

[Tickler and Shepherd melt aioay like foam-hells 
in the sunshine. 

Shepherd. Mr. Tickler ! 

Tickler. James ! 

Shepherd. It's a drawn bate — sae we'll baith pay. — Oh, 
sir ! isna Embro' a glorious city ? Sae clear the air, yonner 
you see a man and a woman stannin on the tap o' Arthur's Seat I 
I had nae notion there were sae mony steeples, and spires, 
and columns, and pillars, and obelisks, and domes, in Embro' I 
And at this distance the ee canna distinguish atween them 
that belangs to kirks, and them that belangs to naval monu 



A Dolphin or a Shark ? 187 

ments, and them that belangs to ile-gas companies, and them 
that's only chimley-heids in the auld toun, and the taps o' 
groves, or single trees, sic as poplars ; and aboon a' and ahint 
a', craigs and saft-broo'd hills sprinkled wi' sheep, lichts and 
shadows, and the blue vapory glimmer o' a midsummer day 
— het, het, het, wi' the barometer at ninety ; but here, to us 
twa, bob-bobbin amang the fresh, cool, murmurin, and faemy 
wee waves, temperate as the air within the mermaid's palace. 
Anither dive ! 

Tickler. James, here goes the Fly- Wheel. 

Shepherd. That beats a' ! He gangs round in the water 
like a jack roastin beef. I'm thinkin he canna stop himsel. 
Safe us ! he's fun' out the perpetual motion. 

TicMer. What fish, James, would you incline to be, if put 
into scales ? 

Shepherd. A dolphin — for they liae the speed o' lichtnin. 
They'll dart past and roun' about a ship in full sail before the 
wind, just as if she was at anchor. Then the dolphin is a 
fish o' peace — he saved the life o' a poet of auld, Arion, wi' 
his harp — and, oh ! they say the cretur's beautifu' in death — 
Byron, ye ken, comparin his hues to those o' the sun settin 
ahint the Grecian Isles. I sud like to be a dolphin. 

Tickler. I should choose to sport shark for a season. In 
speed he is a match for the dolphin — and then, James, think 
what luxury to swallow a well-fed chaplain, or a delicate mid- 
shipman, or a young negro girl occasionally — 

Shepherd. And feenally to be grupped wi' a hyuck in a 
cocked hat and feather, at which the shark rises as a trout 
does at a flee, hauled on board, and hacked to pieces wi' cut- 
lasses and pikes, by the jolly crew or left alive on the deck, 
gutted as clean as a dice-box, and without an inch o' bowels. 

Tickler. Men die at shore, James, of natural deaths as bad 
as that — 



188 A Whale or the Sea-Serpent ? 

Shepherd. Let me see — I sud liae nae great objections to 
be a whale in the Polar Seas. Gran' fun to fling a boatfu' o' 
harpooners into the air — or, wi' ae thud o' your tail, to drive 
ui the stern-posts o' a Greenlandman. 

Tickler. Grander fun still, James, to feel the inextricable 
harpoon in your blubber, and to go snoving away beneath an 
ice-floe with four mile of line connecting you with your dis- 
tant enemies. 

Shepherd. But then whales marry but ae wife, and are pas- 
sionately attached to their offspring. There, they and I are 
congenial speerits. Nae fish that swims enjoys so large a 
share of domestic happiness. 

Tickler. A whale, James, is not a fish. 

Shepherd. Isna he ? Let him alane for that. He's ca'd 
a fish in the Bible, and that's better authority than Buffon. 
Oh, that I were a whale ! 

TicMer. What think you of a summer of the American Sea- 
Serpent. 

Shepherd. What ? To be constantly cruised upon by the 
haill American navy, military and mercantile ! No to be able 
to show your back aboon water without being libelled by the 
Yankees in a' the newspapers, and pursued even by pleasure- 
parties, playin the hurdy-gurdy and smokin cigars ! Besides, 
although I hae nae objection to a certain degree o' singularity, 
I sudna just like to be sae very singular as the American Sea- 
Serpent, who is the only ane o' his specie noo extant ; and 
whether he dees in his bed, or is slain by Jonathan, must in- 
cur the pain and the opprobrium o' defunckin an auld bache- 
lor. What's the matter wi' you, Mr. Tickler? \_Dives. 

Tickler. The calf of my right leg is rather harder than is 
altogether pleasant. A pretty business if it prove the cramp 
and the cramp it is sure enough. — Hallo— James — James — 
James — hnllo — I'm seized with the cramp — James — the 



Seized with Cramp. 189 

sinews of the calf of my right leg are gathered up into a knot 
about the bulk and consistency of a sledge-hammer — 

Shepherd, Nae tricks upon travellers. You've nae cramp. 
Gin you hae, streek out your richt hind leg, like a horse geeiu 
a funk — and then ower on the back o' ye, and keep floatin for 
a space, and your calf '11 be as saf t's a cushion. Lord safe us ! 
what's this ? Deevil tak me if he's no droonin. Mr. Tick- 
ler, are you droonin ? There he's doun ance, and up again — 
twice, and up again ; — but it's time to tak hand o' him by tho 
hair o' the head, or he'll be doun amang the limpets ! 

[Shepherd seizes Tickler hy the locks. 

Tickler. Oho — oho — oho — ho — h o — ho — lira — hra — hrach 
— hrach. 

Shepherd. What language is that ? Finnish ? Noo, sir, 
dinna rug me doun to the bottom alang wi' you in the dead- 
thraws. 

Tickler. Heaven reward you, James — the pain is gone — 
but keep near me. 

Shepherd. Whammle yoursel ower on your back, sir. Thav 
111 do. Hoo are you now, sir ? Yonner's the James Watt * 
steamboat. Captain Bain, within half a league. Lean on my 
airm, sir, till he comes alangside, and it 'ill be a real happiness 
to the captain to save your life. But what '11 a' the leddies do 
when they're hoistin us aboard ? they maun just use their fans. 

Tickler. My dear Shepherd, T am again floating like a 
turtle, — but keep within hail, James. Are you to windward 
or leeward? 

Shepherd. Right astarn. Did you ever see. sir, in a' your 
born days, sic a sky ? Ane can scarcely say he sees't, for it's 
maist invisible in its blue beautifu' tenuity, as the waters o' a 
well ! It's just like the ee o' a lassie I kent lang ago — the 

♦The "James Watt" plied between London and Edinburgh, under the 
command of Captain Bain. 



190 The Shepherd of the Sea. 

langer you gazed intil't, the deep, deep, deeper it grew — the 
cawmer and the mair cawm — composed o' a smile, as an 
amy this t is composed o' licht — and seeming something im- 
palpable to the touch, till you ventured, wi' fear, joy, and 
tremmlin to kiss it — ^just ae hesitatin, pantin, reverential kiss 
— and then, to be sure, your verra sowl kent it to be a bonny 
blue ee, covered wi' a lid o' dark fringes, and drappin aiblins 
a bit frichtened tear to the lip o' love. 

Tickler. What is your specific gravity, James ? You float 
like a sedge. 

Shepherd. Say rather a Nautilus, or a Mew. I'm native to 
the yelement. 

Tickler. Where learned you the natatory art, my dear 
Shepherd ? 

Shepherd. Do you mean soomin ? In St. Mary's Loch. 
For a haill simmer I kept plouterin alang the shore, and pittin 
ae fit to the grun', knockin the skin afE my knees, and makiii 
nae progress, till ae day, the gravel haein been loosened by a 
flood, I plowpt in ower head and ears, and in my confusion, 
turnin my face to the wrang airt, I sworn across the loch at 
the widest at ae stretch, and ever after that could hae soomed 
ony man in the Forest for a wager, except Mr. David Ballan- 
tyne, that noo leeves ower-by yonner, near the Hermitage 
Castle. 

Tickler. Now, James, you are, to use the language of 
Spenser, the Shepherd of the Sea. 

Shepherd. Oh that I had been a sailor ! To hae circum- 
navigated the warld ! To hae pitched our tents, or built our 
bowers, on the shores o' bays sae glitterin wi' league-lang 
wreaths o' shells, that the billows blushed crimson as they 
murmured ! To hae seen our fiags burnin meteor-like, high 
up amang the primaeval woods, while birds bright as ony 
buntin sat.trimmin their plummage amang the cordage, sae 



The Sailor's LiJ\. 191 

tame in that island, where ship had hapiy never touched afore, 
nor ever might touch again, lying in a latitude by itsel, and 
far out o' the breath o' the tredd-wunds ! Or to hae landed 
v/i' a' the crew, marines and a', excep a guard on shipboard 
to keep aff the crowd o' canoes, on some warlike isle, tossin wi' 
the plumes on chieftains' heads, and soun'-soun'-soandin wi' 
gongs ! What's a man-o'-war's barge, Mr. Tickler, beautifu' 
sicht though it be, to the hundred-oared canoe o' some savage 
Island-king ! The King himsel lying in state — no dead, but 
leevin, every inch o' him — on a platform — aboon a' his war- 
riors standin wi' war-clubs, and stane-hatchets, and fish-bane 
spears, and twisted mats, and tattooed faces, and ornaments 
in their noses, and painted een, and feathers on their heads 
a yard heigh, a' silent, or burstin out o' a sudden intil shootin 
sangs o' welcome or defiance, in a language made up o' a few 
lang Strang words — maistly gutturals — and gran' for the 
naked priests to yell intil the ears o' their victims, when about 
to cut their throats on the altar-stane that Idolatry had 
encrusted with blood, shed by stormy moonlicht to glut the 
maw of their sanguinary god. Or say rather — oh, rather 
say, that the wliite-winged Wonder that has brought the 
strangers frae afar, frae lands beyond the setting sun, has 
been hailed with hymns and dances o' peace — and that a' the 
daughters of the Isle, wi' the daughter o' the King at their 
head, come a' gracefully windin alang in a figur, that, wi' a 
thousan' changes, is aye but ae single dance, wi' unsandalled 
feet true to their ain wild singin, wi' wings fancifully fastened 
to their shouthers, and, beautifu' creturs ! a' naked to tlie 
waist. — But whare the deevil's Mr. Tickler ? Has he sunk 
during my soliloquy ? or swum to shore ? Mr. Tickler — Mr. 
Tickler — I wush I had a pistol to fire into the air, that he 
might be brought to. Yonner he is, playing at porpuss. Let 
me try if 1 can reach him in twenty strokes — it's no aboon a 



192 The SkepkevtTs Adventure. 

hunder yards. Five yards a stroke — no bad soomin in dead 
water. — There, I've done it in nineteen. Let me on my 
back for a rest. 

2\ckler. I am not sure that this confounded cramp — 

Shepherd. The cramp's just like the hiccup, sir — never 
lliiuk o't, and it's gaiie. I've seen a white lace veil, sic as 
Queen Mary's drawn in, lyin afloat, without stirrin aboon her 
snawy broo, saftenin the ee-licht — and it's yon braided clouds 
that remind me o't, motionless, as if they had lain there a' 
their lives ; yet, wae's me ! perhaps in ae single hour to melt 
away for ever ! 

Tickler. James, were a Mermaid to see and hear you mor- 
alizing so, afloat on your back, her heart were lost. 

Shepherd. I'm nae favorite noo, I suspeck, amang the 
Mermaids. 

Tickler. Why not, James ? You look more irresistible than 
you imagine. Never saw I your face and ligure to more 
advantage — when lying on the braes o' Yarrow, with yaur 
eyes closed in the sunshine, and the shadows of poetical 
dreams chasing each other along cheek and brow. You would 
make a beautiful corpse, James. * 

Shepherd. Think shame o' yoursel, Mr. Tickler, for daurin 
to use that word, and the sinnies o' the cauf o' your richt leg 
yet knotted wi' the cramp. Think shame o' yoursel ! That 
word's no canny. 

Tickler. But what ail the Mermaids with the Shepherd ? 

Shepherd. I was ance lyiu half asleep in a sea-shore cave 
o' the Isle o' Sky, wearied out b}'^ the verra beauty o' the 
moonlicht that had keepit lyin for hours in ae lang line o' 
harmless fire, stretchin leagues and leagues to the rim o' the 
ocean. Nae sound, but a bit faint, dim plash — plash — plash 
o' the tide — whether ebbin or flawin I ken not — no against, 
but upon the weedy sides o' the cave — 



With a Mermaid. 193 

TYcMer. — 

" As when some shepherd of the Hebride Isles, 
Placed far amid the melancholy main ! " 

Shepherd. That soun's like Thamsoa — in his " Castle o' 
Indolence." A' the haill warld was forgotten — and my ain 
name — and what I was — and where I had come f rae — and why 
I was lyin there — nor was I onything but a Leevin Dream. 

Tickler. Are you to windward or leeward, James ? 

/Shepherd. Something — ^like a caulder breath o' moonlicht 
fell on my face and breast, and seemed to touch all my body 
and my limbs. But it cauna be mere moonlicht, thocht I, 
for at the same time there was the whisperin — or say^ rather, 
the waverin o' the voice — no alang the green cave wa's, but 
close intil my ear, and then within my verra breast, — sae, at 
first, for the soun' was saft and sweet, and wi'. a touch o' 
plaintive wildness in't no unlike the strain o- an Eolian harp, 
I was rather surprised than feared, and maist thocht that it 
was but the wark o' my ain fancy, afore she yielded to the 
dwawm o' that solitary sleep. 

Tickler. James, I hear the Steamer. 

Shepherd. I opened my een, that had only been half steekit 
— and may we never reach the shore again, if there was not 
I, sir, in the embrace o' a Mermaid ! 

Tickler. James — remember we are well out to Inchkeith. 
.If you please, no — 

Shepherd. I would scorn to be drooned with a lee in my 
mouth, sir. It is quite true that the hair o' the cretur is 
green — and it's as slimy as it's green — slimy and sliddery as 
the sea-weed that cheats your unsteady footing on the rocks. 
Then what een ! — oh, what een ! — Like the boiled een o' a 
cod's head and shouthers ! — and yet expression in them — an 
expression o' love and fondness, that would hae garred an 
Eskimaw scunner. 



194 The Mermaid''^ Embrace. 

Tickler. James, you are surely romancing. 

Shepherd. Oh, dear, dear me ! — hech, sirs ! hech, sirs ! — 
the fishiness o' that kiss ! — I had hung up my claes to dry on 
a peak o' the cliff — ^for it was ane o' thae lang midsummer 
nichts, when the sea-air itself fans ye wi' as warm a sugh as 
that frae a leedy's fan when you're sittin side by side wi' her 
in an arbor — 

Tickler. Oh, James — you fox — 

Shepherd. Sae that I was as naked as either you or me, 
Mr. Tickler, at this blessed moment — and whan I felt mysel 
enveloped in the hauns, paws, fins, scales, tail, and maw o' 
the Mermaid o' a monster, I grued till the verra roof o' the 
cave let doun drap, drap, drap upon us — ^me and the Mer- 
maid — and I gied mysel up for lost. 

Tickler. Worse than Yenus and Adonis, my dear Shepherd. 

Shepherd. I began mutterin the Lord's Praj^er, and the 
Creed, and the hundred and nineteenth Psalm — but a' wudna 
do. The Mermaid held the grup — and while I was splutterin 
out her kisses, and convulsed waur than I ever was under the 
warst nichtmare than ever sat on my stamach, wi' ae desper- 
ate wallop we baith gaed tapsalteerie — frae ae sliddery ledge 
to anither — till, wi' accelerated velocity, like twa stanes, in- 
creasin accordin to the squares o' the distances, we played 
plunge like porpusses into the sea, a thousan' fadom deep — 
and hoo I gat rid o' the briny Beastliness nae man kens till 
this day ; for there was I sittin in the cave chitterin like 
a drookit cock, and nae Mermaid to be seen or heard ; al 
though, wad ye believe me, the cave had the smell o' crabs 
and labsters, and oysters, and skate, and fish in general 
aneuch to turn the stamach o' a whale or a sea-lion. 

Tickler. Ship ahoy ! — Let us change our position, James 
Shall we board the Steamer ? 

Shepherd. Only look at the waves, hoo they gang welterin 



Sliip ahoy I 195 

frae her prow and sides, and widen in Ijer wake for miles aff ! 
Gin we venture ony nearer, we'll never wear breeks mair. 
Mercy on us ! she's bearin doun upon us. Let us soom fast, 
and, passing across her bows, we shall bear up to windward 
out o' a' the commotion. — Captain Bain ! Captain Bain ! it's 
me and Mr. Tickler, taking a soom for an appeteet — stop the 
ingine till we get past the bowsprit. 

Tickler, Heavens ! James, what a bevy of ladies on deck ! 
Let us dive. 

Shepherd. You may dive — for you swim improperly high ; 
but as for me, I seem in the water to be a mere Head, like a 
cherub on a church. A boat, captain — a boat ! 

Tickler. James, you aren't mad, sure ? Who ever boarded 
a steamer in our plight ? There will be fainting from stem 
to stern, in cabin and steerage. 

Shepherd. I ken that leddy in the straw bannet and green 
veil, and ruby sarsnet, wi' the glass at her ee. Ye ho — 
Miss — 

Tickler. James — remember how exceedingly delicate a 
thing is a young lady's reputation. See, she turns away in 
confusion. 

Shepherd. Captain, I say, what news frae London ? 

Captain Bain {through a speaking-triimpei). Lord Welling- 
ton's amendment on the bonding clause in the Corn Bill 
again carried against Ministers by 133 to 122."^ Sixty-six 
shillings ! 

Tickler. What says your friend M'Culloch to that. Captain ? 

Shepherd. Wha cares a bodle about corn bills in our 
situation ? What's the Captain routin about noo out o' 

* The Duke cf Wellington's amendment on the Ministerial measure was, that 
^ no foreign giain in bond shall he taken out of bond until the average price 
of corn shall have reached 6Gs."— See Alison's History of Europe from 1815 t<t 
1852, vol. Iv. p. 110 ; also Annual Register, 1827, p. 147. 



196 Rough Water. 

his speakin-trumpet ? But he may just as weel haud his 
toiif>-ue, for T never understand ae word out o' the mouth o' 
a trumpet. 

Tickle?'. He says tJie general opinion in London is that the 
Administration will stand — that Canning and Brougham — 

Shepherd. Canning and Brougham, indeed ! do you think,' 
sir, if Canninjr and Brougham had been soomin in the sea, 
and that Canning had taen the cramp in the cauf o' his richt 
leg, as you either did, or said you did, a short while sin' syne, 
that Brougham wad hae safed him as I safed you ? Faith, 
no he indeed ! Hairy wad hae ihocht nathing o' watching 
till George showed the croon o' his head aboon water, and 
then hittin him on the temples. 

Tickler. No, no, James. They would mutually risk lives for 
each other's sake. But no politics at present ; we're getting 
into the swell, and will have our work to do to beat back 
into smooth water. James, that was a facer. 

Shej^herd. Dog on it, ane wad need to be a sea-maw, or 
kitty-wake, or stormy petrel, or some ither ane o' Bewick's 
birds — 

Tickler. Keep your mouth shut, James, till we're out of 
the swell. 

Sheplierd. Em — hem — umph — humph — whoo — whoo — 
whurr — whurr — herrachvacherach. 

Tickler. Wh«y — whsy — whsy — wliugh — whugh — shugh — 
shugh — prugh — 2)tsugh — prgugh. 

Shepherd. It's lang sin' I've drank sae muckle saut water 
ataesittin — at ae soomin, I mean — as I hae dune, sir, sin' 
that steamboat gaed by. She does indeed kick up a deeviL 
o' a rumpus. 

Trickier. Whoo — whoo — whoof — whroo — whroo — whroof— 
] roof — ptroof — sprtf ! 

Shepherd. Ae thing I maun tell you, sir, and that's, gin 



Arrival of Bronte. 197 

you tak the cramp the noo, you maunna expeek oiiy assist- 
ance frae me — no, gin you were my ain father. This bates 
a' the swalls ! Confoun' the James Watt, quoth I. 

Tickle?'. Nay, nay, James. She is worthy of her name— 
and a better seaman than Captain Bain never boxed the 
compass. He never comes below except at meal times, and 
a pleasanter person cannot be at the foot of the table. All 
night long he is on deck, looking out for squalls. 

Shepherd. I declare to you, sir, that just noo, in the 
trough o' the sea, I didna see the top o' the Steamer's 
chimley. See, Mr. Tickler, — see, Mr. Tickler — only look 
here — only look here — here's Bronte ! Mr. North's 

GREAT NeWFUNLAN' BrONTE ! 

TicJder. Capital — capital. He has been paying his father 
a visit at the gallant Admiral's, * and come across our steps 
on the sands. 

Shepherd. Puir fallow — gran' fallow — did ye think we was 
droonin ? 

Bronte. Bow — bow — bow — bow, wow, wow —bow, wow, 
wow. 

Tickler. His oratory is like that of Bristol Hunt versus 
Sir Thomas Lethbridge.t 

Shepherd. Sir, you're tired, sir. You had better take baud 
o' his tail. 

Tickler. No bad idea, James. But let me just put one arm 
round his neck. There we go. Bronte, my boy, you swim 
strong as a rhinoceros ! 

Bronte. Bow, wow, wow — bow, wow, wow. 

Shepherd. He can do onything but speak. 

Tickler. Why, I think, James, he speaks uncommonly welL 

* Admiral Otway. 

t Henry Hunt, a mob orator and Radical reformer, M. P. for Preston, 1830- 
31 ; died in 1835. Sir T. Lethbridge, a TorjM. P., and large landed proprie- 
tor. 



198 Immortality of Bronte. 

Few of our Scotch Members speak better. He might lead 
the Opposition. 

Shepherd. What for will ye aye be introducin politics, sir ? 
But, really, I hae fund his tail ver}'- useful in that swall ; and 
let's leave him to himsel noo, for twa men on ae dowg's a 
sair doundraucht.* 

Tickler. With what a bold kind eye the noble animal 
keeps swimming between us, like a Christian ! 

Shepherd. I hae never been able to persuade my heart and 
my understandin that dowgs haena immortal sowls. See 
how he steers himsel', first a wee towarts me, and then a wee 
towarts you, wi' his tail like a rudder. His sowl maun be 
immortal. 

Tichler. I am sure, James, that if it be, I shall be extremely 
happy to meet Bronte in any future society. 

Shepherd. The minister wad ca' that no orthodox. But 
the mystery o' life canna gang out like the pluff o' a cawnle. 
Perhaps the verra bit bonny glitterin insecks that we ca' 
ephemeral, because they dance out but ae single day, never 
dee, but keep for ever and aye openin and shuttin their wings 
in mony million atmospheres, and may do sae through a' 
eternity. The universe is aiblins wide aneuch. 

Tichler. Eyes right ! James, a boatful of ladies — with 
umbrellas and parasols extended to catch the breeze. Let 
us lie on our oars, and they will never observe us. 

Bronte. Bow, wow, wow — bow, wow, wow. 

\_Female alarms heard from the pleasure-boat. A 
gentleman in the stem rises with an oar, and 
stands in a threatening attitude. 

Tichler. Ease off to the east, James — Bronte, hush ! 

Shepherd. I howp they've nae f ooling-pieces — for they may 
tak us for gulls, and pepper us wi' swan-shots or slugs. I'll 

* r.ouvdraucht — down-drag. 



Tliey reach the Shore. 199 

live at the flash. Ton's no a gun that chiel has in his 
haun ? 

Tickler, He lets fall his oar into the water, and the '•' boatie 
rows — the boatie rows." — Hark, a song ! 

[_Song from the retiring boat. 

Shepherd. A very gnde sang, and very well sung — ^jolly 
companions, every one. 

Tickler. The fair authors of the Odd Volume I 

Shepherd. What's their names ? 

Tickler. They choose to be anonymous, James ; and that 
being the case, no gentleman is entitled to withdraw the 
veil. 

Shepherd. They're sweet singers, howsomever, and the 
words o' their sang are capital. Baith Odd Volumes are 
maist ingenious, well written, and amusing. 

Tickler. Tlie public thinks so — and they sell like wildfire. 

Shepherd. I'm beginning to get maist desperat thursty, 
and hungry baith. Wliat a denner wull we make ! How 
monj'' miles do you think we hae swom ? 

Tickler. Three — in or over. Let me sound. — Why, James, 
my toe scrapes the sand. " By the Nail, six ! " 

Shepherd. I'm glad o't. It 'ill be a bonny bizziness, gif 
ony neerdoweels hae run aff wi' our claes out o' the machines. 
But gif they hae, Bronte 'ill sune grup them — wunna ye, 
Bronte ? 

Bronte. Bow, wow, wow — bow, wow, wow. 

Shepherd. Now, Tickler, that our feet touch the grun', I'll 
rin you a race to the machines for anither jug. 

Tickler. Done — -but let us ha-\^e a fair start. — Once, 
twice, thrice ! 

[Tickler and the Shepherd start, with Bronte in the 
van., amidloud acclamations from the shore. — Scene closes' 



SCENE U.^Inside of Portohelh Fly. 
Mrs. Gentle. — Miss Gentle. 

Miss Gentle. My dear mother ! I declare there comes Mr, 
Tickler and Mr. Hogg ! 13o let me kiss my hand to them — 
perhaps they may — 

Tickler. Ha ! ladies — I am delighted to find we shall have 
your company to Edinburgh.— Hogg, ascend. 

Shepherd. Hoo are ye the day, Mrs. Gentle ? — and hoo are 
you, Miss Mary ? God bless your bonny gentle een. Come 
in, Mr. Tickler — come in. — Coachman, pit up the steps. But 
gif you've ony parshels to get out o' the office, or ony honest 
outside passengers to tak up, you had better wait a wee while 
on them, and, as it's unco liet, and a' up-hill, and your beasts 
wearied, tak your time, my man, and hurry nae man's cattle. 
Miss Mary, you'll hae been doun to the dookin ? 

Miss Gentle. No, Mr. Hogg ; I very seldom bathe in the sea. 
Bathing is apt to give me a headache, and to induce sleepiness. 

Shepherd. That's a sign the dookin disna agree wi' your 
constitution. Yet though you have that kind o' complexion, 
my dear Mem, that the poet was dreaming o' when he said, 
" call it fair, not pale, "' I howp devoutly that your health's 
gude. I howp, Mrs. Gentle, your dochter's no what's ca'd 
delicate. 

Mrs. Gentle. Mary enjoys excellent health, Mr. Hogg, and is 
mucli in the open air, which, after all, is the best of baths. 

3fiss Gentle. I am truly happy, sir, to meet with you again 
so soon after that charming evening at Buchanan Lodge. I 
hope you are all well at Mount Benger ? 

Shepherd. Better than well ; and next moon the mistress 
expects to see your mother and you alang Wi' Mr. North, 



A Poet's Instincts. 201 

act tiding to your promise. You're no gaun to break it ? 
WLat for are you lookin sae grave, baith o'.you ? I dinna 
un erstan' this — I am verra near about gaun to grow a wee 
angry. 

3Iiss Gentle. When my dear sister shall have recovered 
sufficient strength for a little tour in the country, her physi- 
cian has recommended — 

Shepherd, ^o anither word. She sail come out wi' you to 
Yarrow. I've seen near a dizzen o' us in Mr. North's coach 
afore noo, and no that crooded neither. You fower 'ill ilka ane 
hae your corner — and you, Mem, Mrs. Gentle, and Mr. North, 
'ill be taken for the mother and the father — and Miss Mary 
and Miss Ellenor for your twa dochters ; the ane like Bessy 
Bell, and the ither like Mary Gray. 

jWss Gentle. Most extraordinary, Mr. Hogg — why, my dear 
friend's name absolutely is Ellinor ! 

Shepherd. The moment I either see a young leddy, or lassie 
indeed o' ony sort, or even hear them spoken o' by ane that 
lo'es them, that moment I ken their Christian name. What 
process my mind gangs through I canna tell, except that it's 
intuitive like, and instantawneous. The soun' o' the unpro- 
nounced name, or raither the shadow o' the soun', comes 
across my mind, and I'm never wrang, ony mair than if I had 
heard the wean baptized in the kirk. 

3£iss Gentle. What fine apprehensions are given to the 
poet's gifted soul and senses ! 

Shepherd. A July at Mount Benger will add twenty years 
to Miss Ellenor's life. She sail hae asses' milk — and a stool 
to sit on in the byre every nicht when the " kye come hame " 
to be milked — for there's naething better for that complaint 
than the balmy breath o' kine. 

Miss Gentle. God bless you, sir, yoa are so considerate ! 

Shepherd. And we'll tak care no to let her walk on thegerse 



202 July at Mount Benger. 

when the dews are on, — and no to stay out ower late in the 
gloamin ; and in case o' a chance shower — for there's nae 
countin on them — she sail hae my plaid — and bonny she'll 
look in't, gif she be onything like her freen Miss Mary 
Gentle — and we'll row in a boatie on St. Mary's Loch in the 
sunshine — and her bed sail be made cozy every nicht wi' oiii 
new brass warmin-pan, though there's no as much damp 
about a' the house as to dim a lookin-glass — and her food 
sail be Yarrow truits, and Eltrive chickens, and licht barley- 
scones, wi' a glass o' the mistress's currant-wine. — But I'm 
gettin wearisome, Mems— and, gude safe us ! there's Bronte 
fechtin wi' a carter's mastiff. We're a mile frae Portybelly, 
and I never was sensible o' the Fly ha'in steered frae the 
cotch-oflEish. Driver — driver, stop, or thae twa dowgs 'ill 
devoor ane anither. There's nae occasion — Bronte has 
garred him flee, and that carter 'ill be wise to hand his haun ; 
for faith, gif he strikes Bronte wi' his whup, he'll be on the 
braid o' his back in a jiffy, wi' a haill set o' teeth in his 
wizand, as lang's my .fingers, and as white as yours, Miss 
Mary ; — but wull ye let me look at that ring, for I'm unco 
curious in precious stanes ? 

[Shepherd takes Miss Gentle's hand into his. 

Miss Gentle. It has been in our family, sir, for several 

centuries, and I wear it for my grandmother's sake, who 

took it off her finger and put it on mine a few days before 

she died. 

Shepherd. Mrs. Gentle, I see your dochter's haun's just like 
your ain — the back narrowish, but rather a wee plumpy — 
fingers sma' and taper, without being lang — and the beautifu' 
wee member, pawm an' a', as saft and warm as velvet, that 
has been no verra far aff the fire. Happy he whom Heaven 
ordains, on some nae distant day, to put the thin, unadorned, 
'anrubied ring on this finger — my dear Mary — this ane, the 



Tickler asleep. 203 

neist to the wee finger o' the left haun — and gin you'll ask 
me to the wedding, you shall get, *my bonny doo, warm frae 
this heart o' mine, a faither's blessing. 

Mrs. Gentle. Let me promise for Mary, Mr. Hogg ; and on 
that day, you, Mr. North, and Mr. Tickler will dine with me 
at Trinity Cottage. 

Shepherd. I'll answer for Mr. Tickler. But hoosh — speuk 
lown, or we'll wauken him. I'm never sae happy in his 
company as when he's sleepin — for his animal spirits, at 
times, is maist outrawageous — his wut incessant — and the 
verra een o' him gleg as wummles, mair than I can thole, for 
hours thegither fixed on mine, as gin he wuslied to bore a 
hole through a body's head, frae oss frontis to cerebellum. 

Mrs. Gentle. Well, Mr. Hogg, this is the first time in my 
life I ever saw Mr. Tickler asleep. I fear he has been over- 
powered by the sun. 

Shepherd. No, Mem — by soomin. He and I, and Bronte 
there, took a soom nearlv out to Inchkeith — and no being 
accustomed to it for some years, he's unco comatose. There's 
no ae single thing in a' this warld that he's sae severe on in 
other folk as fa'in asleep in company — let them even hae sat 
up the haill nicht afore, ower bowl or book ; — but that trance 
is like a judgment on him, and he'll be real wud ^ at me for 
no waukenin him, when he opens his een as the wheels stop, 
and he fin's that I've had baith the leddies a' the way up to 
mysel. But you can see him at ony time — whereas a sight 
o' me in Awmrose's is guid for sair een, on an average only 
but ance a season. Mrs. Gentle, did you ever see ony person 
sleep mair like a gentleman ? 

Mrs. Gentle. Everything Mr. Tickler does, Mr. Hogg, is 
like a gentleman. 

Shepherd. When he's dead he'll look like a gentleman. 

* Wud — angry. 



20-1 Tlc/ch)' in the Braiving-Room. 

P^ven if aiie could for a moment mak sic a supposition, he 
would look like a gentleman if he were hanged. 

3T>'S Gentle. Oh, shocking ! — IMy dear sir — 

Shepherd. My admiration o' Mr. Tickler has nae bounds, 
Msm. He would look like a gentleman in the stocks — or 
the Jongs — or the present Ministry — 

Mrs. Gentle. I certainly never saw any person enter a draw ■ 
ing-room with an air of more courteous dignity, more heart- 
felt politeness, more urhanity., sir, — a word, I believe, derived — 

Shepherd. It's no ae man iii fifty thousan' that's entitled 
to hae what's ca'd a mainuer. Maist men, on entering a 
room, do weel just to sit doun on the first chair they lay 
their haun on — or to gang intil the window — or lean against 
the w^a' — or keep lookin at pictures on a table — till the 
denner-bell rinirs. But Mr. Tickler there — sax feet four — 
threescore and ten — wi' heigh feturs * — white hair — ruddy 
cheeks — paircin een — naturally eloquent — fu' o' anecdote o' 
the olden time — independent in sowl, body and estate — geyan 
proud — a wee mad — rather deafish on the side of his head 
that happens to be neist a ninny — he, Mem, is entitled by 
nature and art to hae a mainner, and an extraordinar raainner 
sometimes it is f — 

3Irs. Gentle. I think Mr. Tickler is about to shake ofif his 
drowsiness. 

Tickler. Has that lazy fellow of a coachman not got all his 
parcels and passengers collected yet ? Is he never going to 
sot off? Ay, there we go at hist. This Portobello, J\Jrs. 
Gentle, is really a wonderful place. That building reminds 
me of the Edinbur2:h Post-Office. 

Shepherd. We're in Embro', sir, we're in Embro', and 
you've been snorin like a bittern or a frog in Tarras Moss, 

Tickler. Ladies — can I hope ever to be pardoned for having 
fallen asleep in such presence ? Yet, could I think that the 

• Feturs — features t ISIr. Robert Sym is here painted to the life- 



Thermometer at Eighty, 205 

^ilt of sleep had been aggravated by being habit and repute 
a snorer, suicide alone could — 

Mrs. Gentle. During your slumber, sir, you drew your breath 
as softly as a sleeping child. 

Ticlder. My offence, then, is not inexpiable. < 

Shepherd. I am muckle obliged to you, sir, for sleepin — and 
I drew up the window on your side, that you michtna catch 
cauld ; for, sir, though you draw your breath as saftly as a 
sleepin child, you hae nae notion how wide open you baud 
your mouth. You'll do the same for me another time. 

[ The coach stops, and the Shepherd hands out Miss Gentle 
— Mr. Tickj^'eh gallantli/ performing the same office to the 
Lady Mother. 

Bronte, Bow, wow, wow — bow, wow, wow. \_Scene closes. 

Scene TIL — Mr. Ambrose's Hotel, Picardy Place—Pitt Parlor, 

Mr. North lying on a sofa, a?Z(^Mr. Ambrose fa7ining him 
with a peacock's tail. 

North. These window-ventilators, Mr. Ambrose, are indeed 
admirable contrivances, and I must get them adopted at the 
Lodge. No wind that blows suits this room so well as the 
south-east. Do you think I might venture on another water- 
ice before dinner ? The pine-apple we shall reserve. Thank 
you, Ambrose — that fan almost makes me melancholy. 
Demetrius was truly a splendid — a gorgeous — a glorious bird 
■ — and methinks I see him now affronting Phoebus with his 
thousand lidless eyes intensely bright within the emerald haze 
by which they were all ench'cled and overshadowed. Hark ! 
the timepiece sweetly strikes, as with a silver bell, the hour 
of five ! — Cease your fanning, mine host most worthy, and 
let the dinner appear — for ere a man, with moderate haste, 



206 ''A Cauld Denner." 

might count a hundred, Tickler and the Shepherd will be in 
the presence. Ay, God bless his honest soul, there is my 
dear James's laugh in the lobby. 

{Enter Shepherd and Tickler and Bronte.) 

Shepherd. Here I am, sir, gloriously hungry. My stamach, 
Mr. North, as weel's my heart, 's in the richt place. I'm nae 
glutton — nae gormandeezer — but a man o' a gude, a great 
appeteet — and for the next half-hour I shall be as perfectly 
happy as ony man in a' Scotland. 

Tickler. Take a few biscuits, James, till — 

Shepherd, Biskits ! I could crunch the haill tot o' them like 
sae mony wafers. Rax me ower ane o' thae cabin-biskits o' a 
man-o'-war — there — smash into flinders flees it at ae stroke o' 
my elbow — but here comes the Roond ! 

North. Mr. Ambrose, I ordered a cold dinner — 

Shepherd. A cauld denner ! "Wha the deevil in his seven 
senses wad condescend to sit doun till a cauld denner ! Hail, 
Hotch-potch ! What a Cut o' Sawmou ! That maun hae been 
a noble fish ! Come forrit, my wee chiel, wi' the chickens, 
and you bigger callant, wi' the tongue and ham. Tak tent, 
ye auld dominee, and no scale the sass o' the sweet-breads ! 
Curry's a gran thing, geyan late on in a denner, when the 
edge o' the appeteet's a wee turned, and you're rather be- 
ginnin to be stawed.* Mr. Awmrose, I'll thank ye .to lend 
me a pocky-haundkershief, for I've forgotten mine in my 
wallise, and my mouth's waterin. There, Mr. North, there — ■ 
set in his fit-stule aneath the table. I ca' this, sir, a tastefu' 
and judicious denner for three. Whisht, sirs. " God bless 
us in these mercies, and make us truly thankful. Amen ! " 

Tickler, Hodge-podge, Hogg ? 

Shepherd. Only three ladlefu's. — -Mair peas. Dip deeper 
—That's it. 

* Staioed — satiated. 



"Elie First Tory Rector, 207 

North. Boiling broth, with the thermometer at eighty ! 

Shepherd. I carena if the fermometer war at aught hunder 
and aughty. I'll eat het hotch-potch against Mosshy Shau- 
bert* — only I'll no gae intil the oven — neither will I eat 
arsenick or phosphorus. Noo, Mr. Tickler, my hotch-potch is 
dune, and I'll drink a pint o' porter wi' you frae the tap. 

[Mr. Ambrose places the pewter. 

Shepherd. Wha wull the College laddies make Rector neist ? 
I'll tell you wha they should eleck. 

North. Whom, James ? 

Shepherd. Just yoursel. They've had a dynasty o' Whigs 
— Jaffrey, and Sir James Mackintosh, and Brougham, and 
Cammell — and noo they should hae a dynasty o' Tories. 
The first great Tory Rector should be Christopher 
North. 

North. No — no — no, James. Nolo Episcopari. 

Shepherd. What for no ? Hand your tongue. I'll mak an 
appeal to the laddies, and your election is sure. First, you're 
the auldest Tory in Scotland — secondly, you're the bauldest 
Tory in Scotland — thirdly, you're the wuttiest Tory in Scot- 
land — ^fourthly, you're the wisest Tory in Scotland. That 
Tammas Cammell is a mair popular poet than you, sir, I 
grant ; but that he has ae tenth pairt o' your poetical genius 
I deny. As a miscellawneous writer on a' subjects, human 
and divine, he is no to be named wi' you, sir, in tlie same 
lifetime — and as an Editor, he is, compared wi' Christo- 
pher North — but as a spunk to the Sun ! 

Tickler. Rector ! a glass of hock or sauterne ? 

North. Mr. Ambrose, the Peacock's Tail, if you please. 
The room is getting very hot. 

Shepherd. Oh, sir, but you look bonny when you blush. I 

* A fire-eater of those days. He could liandle, it is said, red-liot iron, and 
enter witli impunity an oven in wliicli. beef-steaks were cooking. 



^08 North as a Vegetarian. 

can conceeve a virgin o' saxteen fa'in in love wi' yon. — Rec- 
tor, yonr good health. Mr. Awmrose, fill the Rector's glass. 
Oh, sir, but you wad luk gran' in your robs. Jaffrey and 
Cammell's but pechs * to you — the verra stoop o' your 
shouthers would be dignified aneath a goon — the gait o' the 
gout is unco philosophical — and wi' your crutch in your 
nieve, you would seem the champion o' Truth, ready either 
to defend the passes against the wily assaults of Falsehood, 
or to follow her into her ain camp, storm the intrenchments, 
and slaughter her whole army o' sceptics. — Mr. Awmrose, 
gie me a clean plate — I'm for some o' the curried kernels. 

North. I have some thoughts, James, of relinquishing 
animal food, and confining myself, like Sir Richard Phillips, 
to vegetable matter. 

Shepherd. Ma troth, sir, there are mony millions o' Sir 
Richard Phillipses in the world, if a' that's necessary to 
make aue be abstinence frae animal food. It's my belief that 
no aboon ane in ten o' mankind at large pree animal food 
frae week's end to week's end. Sir Richard PhilliiDs, on 
that question, is in a great majority. 

Tickler. North, accustomed, James, all his life, to three 
courses — fish, flesh, and fowl — would think himself an abso- 
lute phenomenon or miracle of man, were he to devote the 
remainder of his meals to potatoes and barley bannocks, 
pease-soup, maccaroni, and the rest of the range of bloodless 
but sappy nature. How he would be laughed at for his 
heroic resolution, if overheard by three million strapping 
Irish beggars, with their bowels yearning for potatoes and 
potheen ! 

North. No quizzing, boys, of the old gentleman. 

Shepherd. I agree wi' him in thinkin Sir Isaac Newton out 
o' his reckonin entirely about gravitation. There's nae sic 

*» Pec/is— pigmies. 



Gravitation unnecessary. 209 

thing as a law o' gravitation ! "\Yliat would be the use o't ? 
Wull onybody tell me that an apple or a stane wudna fa' to 
the grun' without sic a law ? Sumphs that say sae ! They 
fa' to the grun' because they're heavy. 

North. Gentlemen, cheese ? 

Shepherd. Na, na — nae cheese. Cheese is capital in the 
forenoons, or the afternoons either, when you've had nao 
ither denner, especially wi' fresh butter and bread ; but nane 
but gluttonous epicures wad hae recourse to it after they hae 
been stuffin themsels, as we hae noo been doin for the last 
hour, wi' three coorses, forbye hotch-potch and puddins. — 
Draw the cloth, Mr. Awmrose, and down wi' the Deevil's 
Punch-Bowl. 

North. You will find, I trust, that it breathes the very 
Spirit of the West. St. Mungo's Cathedral, you know, is at 
the bottom — and near it the monument of John Knox — 
almost as great a reformer in his day as I in mine ; and had 
the West India trade then flourished, no doubt he had been 
as religiously devoted to cold Glasgow Punch. I'll answer 
for him that he was no milksop. 

[Mr. Ambrose and assistants deposit the DeviVs 
Punch-Bowl in the centre of the circular table. 

North. The King. 

Shepherd. I took the hips frae you last time, Mr. North,— 
tak you the hips frae me this time. ... 

North. The wickedness of the whole world, James, is fear- 
some. Many a sleepless night I pass thinking of it, and 
endeavoring to digest plans for the amelioration of my 
species. 

Shepherd. A' in vain, a' in vain ! The bit wean at its 
mother's breast, lang afore it can speak, girns like an imp o' 
sin ; and the auld man, sittin palsied and pillow-prapped in 
his arm-chair at the neuk o' the fire, grows black i' the faca 



210 Ingratitude. 

wV rage, gin his parritcli is no richt biled, or the potawties 
ower hard ; and prefaces his mummied prayer wi' a mair 
mummied curse. 

Tickler. Your language, James, has been particularly strong 
all this evening. The sea is bracing. 

Shepherd. The lassie o' saxteen 'ill rin awa wi' a tinkler, 
and break her father's heart. He dees, and his poor discon- 
solate widow, wha has worn a deep black veil for a towmont, 
that she mayna see or be seen by the sun, marries an Eerish 
sodger ; and neist time you see her, she has naething on her 
head but a dirty mutch, and she's gaun up and doun the 
street half-fou, wi' an open bosom, sucklin twuns ! 

Tickler. Ephesian matron ! 

Shepherd. Gie an advocate bizziness whan he's starvin at 
the tap o' a common stair, wull he help you to fit out your 
son for India when he has become a Judge, inhabiting a 
palace in Moray Place ? Gie a preacher a kirk, and in three 
months he insults his pawtron. Buy up a naitural son, stap 
by stap, in the airmy, till he's a briggadeer, and he*l] disoun 
his ain father, and pretend that he belangs to a distant 
branch o' the stem o' some noble family — although, aiblins, 
he never had on stockins till he was ensign, and up to the 
date o' his first commission herded the kye. Get a reprieve 
for a rubber the nicht afore execution, and he sail celebrate 
the anniversary o' his Free Pardon in your pantry, carryin 
afF wi' him a silver trencher and the branching cawnlesticks. 
In short, do a' the gude you can to a' mankind, and naebody 
'ill thank you. But come nearer to me, Mr. North — lend me 
your ear, sir, it's richt it sud be sae — for, let a man luk into 
his ain heart — the verra man — me — or you — or Mr. Tickler 
there — that has been lamentin ower the original sin o' our 
fellow-creturs, — and oh ! what a sicht does he see there — 
just a mass o' corruption ! We're waur than the warst o' 



North out of 'his Depth/ 211 

them we liae been consignin to the pit, and grue to peep 
ower the edge o't, lest Satan, wha is stannin girnin ahinfc 
our back, gie us a dunge when we're no mindin, and bury us 
in the brimstone. 

Tickler. Oh, ho, gents — from libelling individuals, you 
two are now advancing to libel human nature at large. For 
my own part, I have a most particular esteem for human 
nature at large — and — 

Shepherd. Your views is no scriptural, Mr. Tickler. 

Worth, Perhaps, Tickler, we are getting out of our depths. 

Shepherd. Gettin out o' your deepth ! Ma faith, Mr, 
North, when ye get out o' your deepth, ither folk '11 be 
drooning — when the water's up to your chin, there '11 be a sair 
jinglin in maist throats ; and when it's risen out-ower your 
nose, sir, there'll be naething less than a universal deluge. 

North. May I believe, sir, what I hear from so many quar- 
ters, that you are about editing the Southside Papers? 

Tickler. You may. The Preface is at press. 

Shepherd. That's gran' news ! — But, pity me, there's John 
Knox's moniment and the Glasgow Cathedral reappearin 
aboon the subsidin waves ! Anither bowl, sir ? 

North. Not a drop. We have timed it to a minute — nine 
o'clock. You know we are all engaged — and we are not 
men to neglect an engagement. 

Shepherd. Especially to sooper wi' leddies — ^let's aff. Oh, 
man! Bronte, but you have behaved weel — never opened 
your mouth the haill nicht — but sat listenin there to our 
conversation. Mony a Christian puppy micht take a lesson 
frae thee. 

Bronte. Bow — wow— wow. 

Shepherd. What spangs ! [_jE!xeunt omnes. 



THE SHEPHERD IS ATTACKED BY TIC-DOULOUREUX 
ANGINA PECTORIS, AND JAUNDICE. 



Scene I. — Picardy Place — South-East Drawing-room, 

The Shepherd solus. 

Shepherd. Perfeck enchantment ! Ae single material coal- 
fire multiplied by mirrors into a score o' unsubstantial reflec- 
tions, ilka image burnin awa as brichtly up its ain shadowy 
chimley as the original Prototeep ! — Ma faith, you're a maist 
magnificent time-piece, towerin there on the mantel,* mair 
like a palace wi' thae ivory pillars, or the verra temple o' 
Solomon ! Mony, certes, is the curious contrivance for notin 
time ! The hour-glass — to my mind the maist impressive, 
j)erhaps, o' them a' — as ye see the sand perpetually dreep- 
dreepin awa momently, and then a' dune, just like life. 
Then, wi' a touch o' the haun, or whammle in which there's 
aye something baith o' feelin and o' thocht, there begins 
anither era, or epoch of an hour, during which ane o' your 
ain bairns, wha has been lang in a decline, and visited by the 
doctor only when he's been at ony rate passin by, gies a 
groanlike sich, and ye ken in a moment that he's dead ; or 
an earthquake tumbles down Lisbon, or some city in Cala- 
bria, while a' the folk, men, women, and children, fall down 

* Mantel — cblTOney-piece. ^ 

212 



Poetry of the Sun-dial, 213 

on their knees, or are crushed aiblins by falling churches. 
"The dial-stane aged and green," — ane a' Cammel's line 
lines ! Houses change families not only at Michaelmas, but 
often, on a sudden summons frae death, there is a general 
flittin, awa a'thegither frae this side o' the kintra, nane o' 
the neebors ken whare ; and sae, ye see, dial-stanes get 
green, for there are nae bairns' hauns to pick aff the moss, 
and it's no muckle that the Robin Redbreast taks for his 
nest, or the Kitty-Wren. It's aften been a mournfu' thocht 
wi' me, that o' a' the dial-stanes I ever saw, stanin in a sort 
o' circle in the middle o' a garden, or in a nyeuck o' grun' * 
that might ance hae been a garden, just as you gang in or 
out o' the village, or in a kirkyard, there was aye something 
wrang wi' them, either wi' the finger or the face, sae that 
Time laughed at his ain altar, and gied it a kick in the by- 
gaun, till it begood to hang a' to the tae side, like a neg- 
leckit tombstane ower the banes o' some ane or ither buried 
lang afore the Covenant.-; — Isna that a fiddle on the brace- 
piece ? Let's hawnle f her. — Ay, just like a' the lave — ae 
string wantin — and something or ither wrang wi' twa-three 
o' the pegs — sae that whan ye skrew up, they'll no baud % 
the grip. Neertheless, I'll play mysel a bit tune. Got, she's 
no an ill fiddle — but some folk can bring music out o' a 
boot-jack. — {Sings, " mother, tell the laird o't.") — I'm no 
in bad vice the nicht — and oh ! but the Saloon's a gran' 
ha' for singin ! Here's your health and sang, sir. Dog 
on't, if I didna believe for a minute that yon Image was 
anither Man ! I dinna a'thegither just like this room, for 
it's getting unco like a Pandemonium. It would be a fear- 
some room to get fou in — ^for then you would sit giowerin 
in the middle o' forty fires, and yet fear that you were nae 

* Nijeucl- o' grun''— wook of ground. t JBat^nZe— handle. 

$ Ilaud — liold. 



214 A Present from Russia. 

• 
Salamander. You wud be frichtened to stir, in case you 
either walked in til the real ribs, or gaed crash through a 
lookin-glass, thinkin't the trance.* I'm beginnin to get a 
wee dizzy — sae let me sit down on this settee. Oh ! wow, 
but this is a sonsy sofa ! It wad do brawly for a honey- 
moon. 

{Enter Mr. j^mbrose with some Reindeer tongues.) 

Mr. Ambrose. A present, Mr. Hogg, from the Emperor of 
Russia to Mr. North. The Emperor, you remember, sir, 
when Duke Nicholas,! used to honor Gabriel's Road. — 
Asleep, with his eyes open ! [^JExit retrogrediens. 

Shepherd. Was Awmrose no in the room the noo ? Pre- 
serve us ! what a tot o' tongues ! And it' me that used to 
fin' faut wi' Shakespeare for putting long soliloquies into the 
mouths of his chief characters ! But I'm gettin as hoarse as 
a craw — and had better ring the bell for a jug. Deevil tak 
the worsted bell-rape — see if it hasna bracken short aff, 
leaving the ring in my haun ! Mercy on us, whatten a feet 
o' flunkeys in the trance ! 

[Door jiies open — and enter Tickler — North, 
supported by Mr. Ambrose.) 

Shepherd. What a queer couple o' auld fallows, a' covered 
wi' cranreuch ! X Is't snawin, sirs ? 

Tickler. Snowing, my dear James! — Sleeting, hailing, 
raining, driving, and blasting, all in one unexpected coalition 
of parties, to the utter discomfort and dismay of all his 
Majesty's loyal subjects. 

Shepherd. And hae you walked up, like twa fules, frae 
Bawhannan Lodge, in sic an eerie nicht, knee-deep in mire, 
glaur, and sludge ? 

• Trance— passage. 

t The late Emperor of Russia visited Edinburgh in 1816. 

X Cranrezich — ^hoar-frost. 



" Two Bright and Aged Snakes^ 215 

Tickler. One of North's coach-horses is sick, and the other 
lame — and — 

Shepherd. Catch me keepin a cotch. It costs Mr. North 
five guineas every hurl — and him that's getting sae narrow, 
too — but Pride ! hech, sirs, Pride gets the maister o' Avarice 
— and he'll no condescend to hire a haickney. Dinna melt 
in the Saloon, sirs — gang intil the trance, and cast your 
outer skins, and then come back glitterin like twa serpents 
as you are, twa Boa-Constrictors, or rather Rattlesnakes, wi' 
your forked tongues, and wee red piercin een, growin aye 
mair and maJr venomous, as ye begin to bask and beek in the 
hearth-heat, and turn about the heads o' you to spy whom 
you may fasten on, lick a' ower wi' glue, and then draw 
them into your jaws by suction, crashin their banes like egg- 
shells, and then hissin to ane anither in weel-pleased fierce- 
ness, after your ain natur, which mony a puir tortirt cretur 
has kent to his cost to be without pity and without ruth — jq 
Sons o' Satan ! 

North. Thank ye, my dear James, for all your kind in- 
quiries. — Quite well, excei3t being even deafer than usual, 
or — 

Shepherd. Ne'er mind, sir ; I'll mak you hear on the deaf- 
est side o' your head. But what's he fummlin at yonner ? Od, 
tie's just, for a' the warM, like a wee bit corn-stack, frosted 
«iid pouthered ower wi' rime. NooMr. Awmrose has gotten 
liim out o' the theekin, — and oh ! but he looks genteel, and 
uke a verra nobleman, in that speck-and-span-new blue coat, 
^n^ big yellow buttons ; nor wad that breast ill become a star. 
Ueel roun' his throne, Mr. Awmrose. 

[Mr. Ambrose wheels Mr. North in the Patent Chair to 
the off-door side of the Fire, setting his Footstool, and 
depositing the Crutch in its oion niche, leaning on the 
pedestal of Apollo. 



216 Tickler in the Dissecting-room. 

Tickler. Heaven and earth ! James, are you well, my dear 
friend ? — you seem reduced to a mere shadow. 

Shepherd. Reduced to a mere shadow ! — I'm thinkin, sir, 
you'll hae been mistakin your nain figure in the glass for me 
the noo — 

North. Thank ye, Mr. Ambrose.— Family all well ? That's 
right — that's right. Where's the Shepherd ? Lord bless me, 
James, are you ill ? 

Shepherd. Me ill ? What the deevil's to mak me ill ? — ■ 
But you're baith jokin noo, sirs. 

Tickler. Pardon my weakness, James, but I had a very 
ugly dream about you — and your appearance. 

Shepherd. Ma appearance ? What the deevil's the matter 
wi' ma appearance ? Mr. North, am I luckin ony way onto' 
health ? — {Aside) — Ay, ay, my lads, I see what you're ettlin 
at noo — but I'm no sae saft and simple's I look like. — {Aloud) 
—You had an ugly dream, Mr. Tickler ? — what was't about ? 
Let's hear't. 

Tickler. That you were dead, James, — laid out — coffined — 
biered — buried — superscribed — and — 

Shepherd. Houkit * up by half-a-dizzen resurrection-men — 
driven by nicht in a gig to Embro', and selt for three pounds 
ten shillings to a lecturin surgeon for a subject o' demonstra- 
tion afore a schule o' young doctors ; and after that, an atomy 
in Surgeons' Ha'. Do ye ken, Mr. Tickler, that I wud like 
gran' to see you disseckit ? That is, after you was dead — for 
I'm no wishin you dead yet, although you plague me sairly 
sometimes ; and are aye tryin, I winna say wi' what success, 
to be witty at my expense. I wish you a' happiness, sir, and 
a lang life — but I howp I may add without offence, that gin 
ye was fairly and honny feedy dead — I wud like to see the 
corp disseckit, no on a public table, afore hunners o' glower- 

* Houkit— dMg. 



North bequeaths his Skull, 217 

ing gawpuses, but ii) a parlor afore a few chosen peers, sic 
as Mr. North there, and O'Doherty, and A ; * who, by the 
way, would be happy, I dmna doubt, to perform the operation 
himsel, and I could answer for his doin't wi' a haun at ance 
firm and tender, resolute and respectfu', for ae man o' genius 
is aye kind to anither on a' sic occasions ; and A would cut 
you up, sir, as delicately as you were his ain faither. 

Tickler. Is it to give a flavor to the oysters, James, that 
you talk so ? Suppose we change the subject. 

Shephei'd. We shall leave that to A, sir. There's nae 
need for changin the subject yet ; besides, didna ye introduce't 
yoursel, by offerin to receet your ugly dream about my de- 
cease ? But — 

North. My dear James, I have left you, by my last will 
and testament, my Skull. 

Shepherd. Oh ! my dear sir, but I take that verra, verra 
kind. I'll hae't siller-munted, — the tap o't: — i hat is, the organ 
o' veneration, which in joxi is enormous — sawn aff like that 
o' a cocko-nit, and then fastened on for a lid by a hinge, — and 
I'll keep a' ma manuscrippsin't — and also that wee stereoteep 
Bible you gied me that beautiful Sunday simmer night we 
spak sae seriously about religion, when the sun was settin sae 
gloriously, and the profound hush o' nature seemed o' itsel an 
assurance o' immortality. Mr. Tickler, will ye no leave me 
your skull too, as weel's the cremona that I ken's in a codicil, 
to staun cheek-by-jowl wi' Mr. North's, on the tap o' my 
mahogany leebrary ? 

Tickler. Be it so, James — but the bequest must be mutual. 

Shepherd. I hae nae objection — there's my thumb, I'll ne'er 
beguile you. Oh, sir ! but I wad look unco gash t on a bit 

* D. M. Moir, the " Delta " of Blacliiooo(V s Magazine, was an eminent medi- 
cal practitioner at INIusselburgh, near EdinburgL.. He died in 1851. 
t Unco (jash — uncommonly sagacious. 



218 " Alas, -poor Yorick ! " 

pedestal in the parlor o' Southside, when you were enter- 
teeiiiii your sma' snug pairties wi' anecdots o' the Shepherd. 
There's something pleasant in the thocht, sir, for I'm sure ye 
wad tell nae ill o' me — and that you wud every Saturday 
nicht wipe the dust frae my skull wi' a towel, mutterin per- 
haps at a time, " Alas, poor Yorick ! " 

TicMer. James — you affect me — you do indeed — 

Shepherd. Silly fules, noo, were they to owerhear us jockin 
and jeerin in this gate about ane anither's skulls, wud ca' us 
Atheists, and deny our richt to Christian burial. But what 
signifies a skull ? The shell of the flown bird, said Simonides, 
a pensive poet of old — for whose sake would that I could read 
Greek — though I fancy there are o' him but some sma' and 
uncertain remains. 

North. James, many a merry Christmas to us all. What a jug! 

Shepherd. It's an instinck wi' me noo, makin het whisky 
toddy. A' the time o' our silly discourse about our skulls, 
was I steerin about the liquid, plumpin in the bits o' sugar, 
and garrin the green bottle gurgle — unconscious o' what I 
was about — yet, as ye observe, sir, wi' your usual sagacity, 
'' What a jug ! " 

TicMer. There is no such school of temperance as Ambrose's 
in the world — a skreed * in any room of his house clears my 
head for a month, and re-strings my stomach to such a pitch 
of power, that, like an ostrich, I can digest a nail or a cork- 
screw. — I scarcely think, James, that you are in your usual 
spirits to-night. Come, be brilliant. 

Shepherd. Oh, man, Mr. Tickler, wha wad hae expeckit 
sic a sumphish speech frae you, sir ? Wha was ever brilliant 
at a biddin ? Bid a sleepin fire bleeze — wuU't ? Na. But ripe 
the ribs, and then gie the central coal a smash wi' the poker, 
and lo ! a volcano vomits like Etna or Vesuvius. 
* A shreed — a liberal allowance of anything. 



Christmas MelancJioly, 219 

Tickler. After all, my dear James, I believe the truth to 
be, that Christmas is not a merry season. 

Shepherd. Aiblins scaircely sae to men like us, that's gettin 
raither auld. But though no merry, it needna be melancholy 
— for after a', death, that taks awa the gude — a freen or twa 
drappin awa ilka year — is no so very terrible, except when he 
comes to our ain fireside, our ain bed, or our ain cradle — and, 
for my ain part, I can drink, wi' an unpainfu' tear, or without 
ony tear at a', to the memory o' them I loved dearly, naething 
doubtin that Heaven is the trystin-place where all friends 
and lovers will feenally meet at last, free frae a' jealousies, 
and heart-burnings, and sorrows, and angers — sae, why should 
our Christmas be melancholy, though we three have buried 
some that last year lauched, and sang, and danced in our 
presence, and because of our presence, and looked as if theyn 
had been destined for a lang, lang life ? . . . But do you ken, 
m spite o' a' that, I'm just desperate fond o' Christmas 
minshed pies. Sirs — in a bonny bleeze o' brandy, burnin 
blue as snapdragon — I can devoor a dizzen. 

Tickler. Christmas geese are prime birds, James, with 
onions and sage sufficient, and each mouthful accompanied 
by its contingent of rich red apple-sauce. 

Shepherd. A guse aye gives me the colic — yet I canna help 
eatin't for a' that — for whan there's nae sin nor iniquity, it's 
richt and reasonable to purchase pleasure at the expense o' 
pain. I like to eat a' sorts o' land or fresh- water wild-fools — 
and eke the eggs. Pease-weeps' * eggs is capital poached. 

Tickler. James, whether do you like eating or drinking 
best ? Is hunger or thirst the preferable appetite ? 

Shepherd. Why, you see, I, for ane, never eat but when 
I'm hungry — and hunger's soon satisfied if you hae plenty 
o' vittals. Compare that wi' driukin when your thursty — 

* Pease-vjerp — lapwing. 



220 Hunger or Thirst f 

either clear well-water, or sour-milk, or sma' yill, or porter, 
or speerits half-and-half, and then I wad say that eatin and 
drinkin's pretty much of a muchness — very nearly on a par, 
wi' this dilference, that hunger wi' me's never sae intense as 
thurst. I never was sae hungry that I wad hae devoured a 
bane frae the gutter, but I hae often been sae thursty, on the 
muirs, that I hae drank black moss-water wi' a green scum 
on't without scunnerin. 

North. I never was hungry in my life. 

Slicpherd. That's a confounded lee, sir, beggin your par- 
don — 

North. No offence, James — ^but the instant I begin to eat, 
my appetite is felt to be excellent. 

Shepherd. Felt and seen baith, sir. A how-towdie's a 
mere laverock to ^'■ou, sir, on the day the Magazine's finished 
aff — and Mr. Awmrose himsel canna help lauchin at the re- 
lays o' het beef-stakes that ye keep yokin to, wi' pickled in- 
gans or shallotts, and spoonfu's o' Dickson's mustard, that 
wad be aneuch to blin' a Lynx. 

Tickler. I have lost my appetite — 

Shepherd. I howp nae puir man 'ill find it, now that wages 
is low and wark scarce ; — but drinkin, you see, Mr. North, 
has this great advantage over eatin, that ye may drink a* 
nicht lang without being thursty — tummler after tummler — 
jug after jug — bowl after bowl — as lang's you're no sick — 
and you're better worth sittin wi' at ten than at aucht, and 
at twal than at ten, and during the sma' hours you're just 
intolerable good company — scarcely bearable at a', ane waxes 
sae truly wutty and out o' a' measure deevertin ; whereas I'll 
defy ony man, the best natural and acquired glutton that 
ever was born and bred at the feet o' a father that gaed aff 
at a city feast, wi' a gob o' green fat o' turtle half-way down 
his gullet, in an apoplexy, to carry on the eatin wi' ony 



The Shepherd'' s Constitution. 221 

spunk or speerit after three or lour courses, forbye toasted 
cheese, and roasted chestnuts, and a dessert o' filberts, prunes, 
awmons, and raisins, ginger-frute, guava jeelly, and ither 
Wast Indian preserves. The cretur coups ower * comatose. 
But only tak tent f no to roar ower loud and lang in speakm 
or singin, and you may drink, awa at the Glenlivet till past 
midnight, and weel on to the morning o' the day after to- 
morrow. 

Tickler. Next to the British, Hogg, I know no such consti- 
tution as yours — so fine a balance of powers. I daresay you 
never had an hour's serious illness in your life. 

Shepherd. That's a' you ken — and the observe comes weel 
frae you that began the nicht wi' giein the club my death- 
like prognosis. 

Tickler. Proo-nosis ? , ' 

Shepherd. Simtoms like. This back-end % I had a' three 
at ance, the Tick Dollaroose, the Angeena Pectoris, and the 
Jaundice. v^ 

North. James — James' — James ! 

Tickler. Hogg — Hogg — Hogg ! 

Shepherd. I never fan' ony pain like the Tick Dollaroose. 
Ane*s no accustomed to a pain in the face. For the tooth- 
ache's in the inside o' the mouth, no in the face ; and you've 
nae idea hoo sensitive's the face. Cheeks are a' fu' o' nerves 
— and the Tick attacks the haill bunch o' them, sere win or 
them up to sic a pitch o' tension that jo\x canna help screechin 
out, like a thousan' ools, and clappin the pawms o' your hauns 
to your distrackit chafts, and rowin yoursel on the floor on 
jour groof, § wi' your hair on end, and your een on fire, and 
a general muscular convulsion in a' your sinnies, sae piercin, 
and searchin, and scrutinisin, and diggin, and houkin, and 

♦ Co\ips ojoer— tumbles over. t Talc tent—isCkQ care. 

X Back-end—close of tlie year. § Groof— telly. 



222 Tic Douloureux. 

tearin is the pangfu' pain that keeps eatin awa and manglin 
the nerves o' your human face divine. Draps o' sweat, as 
big as beads for the neck or arms o' a lassie, are pourin doun 
to the verra floor, so that the folk that hears you roarin thinks 
you're greetin, and you're aye afterwards considered a bairnly 
chiel through the haill kintra. In ane o' the sudden fits I 
gruppit sic haud o' a grape that I was helpin our Shusey * 
to muck the byre wi' that it withered in my fingers like a 
frush t saugh-wand % — and 'would hae been the same had it 
been a bar o' airn. Only think o' the Tick Dollaroose in a 
man's face continuing to a' eternity ! 

North. Or even for a few million ages — 

Shepherd. Angeena Pectoris is even waur, if waur may be, 
than the Tick Dollaroose. Some say it's an ossified condition 
o' the coronary arteries o' the heart ; but that' no necessarily 
true — for there's nae ossification o' these arterial branches o 
my heart. But oh ! sirs, the fit's deadly, and maist like till 
death. A' at ance, especially if you be walkin up-hill, it 
comes on you like the shadow o' a thunder-cloud ower smilin 
natur, silencin a' the singin birds, as if it threatened earth- 
quake, — and you canna doubt that your last hour is come, 
and that your sowl is about to be demanded of you by its 
Maker. However aften you may have it, you aye feel and 
believe that it is, this time — death. It is a sort o' sWoon, 
without loss o' sense — a dwawm, in which there still is con- 
sciousness — a stoppage o' a' the animal functions, even o' 
breathin itsel, which, if I'm no mista'en, is the meaning o' a 
syncope — and a' the while something is rug-raggin § at the 
heart itsel, something cauld and ponderous, amist like tho 
forefinger and thoom o' a heavy haun — the haun o' an evil 
speerit ; and then you expeck that your heart is to rin doun, 

* -5^Msen— Susan. t Frush— hx'MlQ. 

t Savnh-vand — ■svinoAV--wanil. § Rvg-rii.riri\yi — tear-tpanngr 



Angina Pectoris. 223 

just like a clock, wi' a dull cloggy noise, or rumble like that 
o' disarranged machinery, and then to beat, toticknae mair ! 
The collapse is dreadfu'. Ay, Mr. North, collapse is the 
word. ^ 

North. Consult Uwius on Indigestion, James — the best 
medical work I have read for years, of a popular yet scientific 
character. 

Shepherd. Noo for the Jaundice. The Angeena Pectoris, 
the Tick Dollaroose, are intermittent — " like angel visits, few 
and far between " — but the jaundice lasts for weeks, when it 
is gatheriii or brewin in the system — for weeks at its yellowest 
height, — and foT weeks as the disease is ebbin in the blood — 
a disease, if I'm no sair mista'en, o' the liver. 

North. An obstructed condition of the duodenum, James — 

Shepherd. The mental depression o' tlie sowlin the jaundice 
is most truly dreadfu'. It would li5e sunk Samson on the 
morning o' the day that he bore aff on his back the gates o' 
Gaza. 

Tickler. Tell us all about it, James. 

Shepherd. You begin to hate and be sick o' things that used 
to be maist delightfu' — sic as the sky, and streams, and hills, 
and the ee and voice, and haun and breast o' woman. You 
dauner about the doors, dour and dowie, and. are seen sittin 
in nyeucks and corners, whare there's little licht, no mindin 
the cobwabs, or the spiders themselves drappin doun amang 
your unkempt hair. You hae nae appeteet ; and if by ony 
chance you think you could tak a mouthfu' o' a particular 
dish, you splutter't out again, as if it were bitter ashes. You 
canua say that you are unco ill either, but just a wee sickish 
■ — tongue furry, as if you had been licking a muff or a 
mawkin — and you observe, frae folk stannin weal back when 
you liappen to speak to them — which is no afteu — that your 
breath's bad, though a week before it was as caller as clover. 



224 Jaundice. 

You snore mair tlian you sleep — and dream wi' your een open 
— ugly, confused, mean, stupid, unimaginative dreams, like 
those of a drunk dunce imitatin a Noctes — and that's aboot 
the warst thing o' a' the complaint, that you're ashamed o* 
yoursel, and begin to fear that you're no the man you ance 
thocht yoursel, when in health shootin groose on the hills, or 
listerin sawmon. 

North. The jaundice that, James, of a man of genius — of 
the author of the Queens Wake. 

Shepherd. Wad ye believe it, sir, that I was ashamed of 
" Kilmeny " ? A' the poems I ever writ seemed trash — > 
rubbish — fuilzie ; and as for my prose — even my verra articles 
in Maga — " Shepherd's Calendar" and a' — waxed havers — 
like something in the Metropolitan Quarterly Magazine, the 
stupidest o' a' created periodicals, and now deader than a' the 
nails in Nebuchadnezzar's coffin. 

North. The disease must have been at its climax then, my 
dear James. 

Shepherd. Na, na, na ; it was far frae the cleemax. I tuk 
to the bed, and never luckit out frae the coortains for a fort- 
night — gettin glummier and glummier in sense and sowl, 
heart, mind, body, and estate — eating little or naething, and 
■ — wad ye believe it ? — sick, and like to scunner at the very 
name o' whusky. 

North. Thank God, I knew nothing of all this, James. 1 
could not have borne the thought, much less the sight, of such 
total prostration, or rather perversion of your understanding. 

Shepherd* "Wearied and worn out wi' lyin in the bed, I got 
uj) wi' some sma' assistance frae wee Jamie, God bless him ! 
and telt them to open the shutters. What a sicht I A' faces 
as yellow's yellow lilies, like the parchment o' an auld drum- 
head ! Ghastly were they, ane and a', when they leuch ;^ yet 

* Leuch — laughed. 



Progress of the Disease. 225 

seemed insensible o' their corp-like hue — I mean, a corp that 
has died o' some unnatural disease, and been keepit ower lang 
aboon grun' in close weather, the carpenter having gotten 
drunk, and botched the coffin. I ca'd for the ghiss — and my 
ain face was the warst o' the haill set. Whites o' een ! They 
were the color o' dandelions, or yellow-yoldrins.*! was feareil 
to wash my face, lest the water grew ochre. That the Jaundice 
was in the house was plain ; but whether it was me only that 
had it, or a' the rest likewise, was mair than I could tell. 
That the yellow I saw w^asna in them, but in me, was hard to 
believe, when I luckit on them ; yet I thocht on green specks, 
and the stained wundows in Windermere Station, and reasoned 
wi' mysel that the discoloration must be in my lens, or pupil, 
or optic nerve, or apple, or ba' o' the ee ; and that I, James 
Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, was The Jaundice. 

Tickler. Your portrait, colored from nature, James, would 
have been inestimable in after ao-es. and o;iven rise to much 
argument among the learned about your origin — the country 
of your birth. You must have looked cousin-german to the 
Green Man and Still. 

Shepherd. I stoitered to the door, and, just as T feared, the 
Yarrow was as yellow as a rotten egg — a' the holms the color 
o' a Cockney's play-going gloves — the skies like the dirty 
ochre wa's o' a change-house — the cluds like buckskin breeks 
— and the sun, the michty sun himsel, wlia lends the rainbow 
its hues, and is never the poorer, looked at me wi' a discon- 
solate aspeck,- as much as to say, " James, James, is it thou 
or I that has the Jaundice ? " 

TicMer. Better than the best bits of Abernethy f in the 
Lancet, North. 

* Yelloiv-yoldrin — yellow-hammer. 

t This eminent practitioner, celebrated no less for his eccentricity ol 
manner than for his medical skill, was born in 1764, and died in 1831. He 
vras the autlior of Surgical Observations. Physir>logical Essays, etc. 



226 The Shepherd's Recovery. 

Shepherd. Just as I was gaun to answer the sun, the Tick 
DoUaroose attacked baith o' my cheeks — a' my face, lips, chin, 
nose, brow, lugs, and crown and back o' my head, — the An- 
geena Pectoris brought on the Heart-Collapse — and there the 
three, the Tick, the Angeena, and the Jaundice, a' fell on me 
at ance, like three English, Scotch, and Eerish regiments 
stormin a fort, and slaughterin their way wi' the beggonet on 
to the citadel 

North. That you are alive at this blessed hour, my dearest 
James, almost exceeds belief, and I begin to suspect that you 
are not flesh and blood — a mere Appearance. 

Shepherd. Na, faith, a'm a reality ; an Appearance is apuir 
haun at a jug. Yet, sir, the recovery was weel worth a' T 
paid for it in sufferins. The first time I went out to the 
knowe yonner, aboon the garden, and gazed and glowered, 
and better gazed and glowered, on the heavens, the earth, 
and the air, the three bein blent thegither to mak up that 
mysterious thing — a Day o' Glory — I thocht that my youth, 
like that o' the sun-staring eagle, had been renewed, and that I 
was ance mair in the verra middle o' the untamed licht and 
music o' this life, whan a' is fancy and imagination, and 
friendship and love, and howp, — oh, howp, sir, howp, worth 
a' the ither blisses ever sent frae Heaven, like a shower o' 
sunbeams, for it canna be darkenit, far less put out by the 
mirkest midnight o' meesery, but keeps shinin on like a star, 
or rather like the moon hersel — a spiritual moon, sir, that " is 
never hid in vacant interlunar cave." 

Tickler. Mixed metaphors these, James. 

Shepherd. Nane the waur o' that, Timothy — I felt about 
ane-and-twunty — and oh, what an angelical being was a lassie 
then comin wadin through the ford ! At every step she took, 
after launin wi' her white feet, havin letten doun fa' her 
cloudlike claes wi' a blush, as she keepit lookin roun' and 



Literary Men in the Country. 227 

roun' for a whyleock, to see gin ony ee had been on her, as 
her limbs came silveryin through the water — 

North. The Ladies, James, in a bumper. 

Shepherd. The leddies. — A track o' flowers keepit length- 
enin alang the greensward as she walked awa', at last, quite 
out o' siclit. 

Tickler. And this you call recovering from the Tic-Dou- 
loureux, the Angina Pectoris, and the Jaundice, James ? 
[Enter Mr. Ambrose, with copper-kettle No. /] 

North. Who rung ? 

Ambrose. I have taken note of the time of the last foui 
jugs, sir, and have found that each jug gains ten minutes on 
its predecessor — so ventured — 

Shepherd. Oh, Mr. Ambrose, but you wad be a gran' 
observer o'the motions o' the heavenly bodies in an Astro- 
nomical Observatory ! — The jug's this moment dead. There 
— ^in wi' a' the sugar, and a' the whusky, — fill up, Awmrose, 
fill up. That stroop's * a gran' jDourer, and you're a prime 
experimenter in hydrostatics. 

[_Exit Mr. Ambrose, sustirrans.\ 

North. A mere literary man, James, is a contemptible 
creature. Indeed, I often wish that I had flourished before 
the invention of printing or even of writing. What think 
you, James, of a Noctes in hieroglyphics ? 

Shepherd. T scarcely ken ; but I think ane wadna look 
amiss in the Chinese. Wi' respeck to mere literary men, oh 
dear me, sir ! hoo T do gauntf when they come out to Mount 
Benger ! They canna shute, they canna fish, they canna 
loup, they canna warsle, they canna soom, they canna put 
the stane, they canna fling the hammer, they canna even 
drive a gig, they canna kiss a lassie in an aff-haun and 
pleasant manner, without offendin her feelins, as through the 

* iS/?'oq/)— spout. t Gaunt — yawn 



228 North iii his Dotage. 

dews slie " comes wadin all alane ;" and wliat's perhaps the 
maist contemptible o' a', they canna, to ony effeck, Irink 
whusky. A6 glass o' pure speerits on the hill afore brcakfasi 
wad gie them a sick headache ; and after denner, although 
the creturs hae nae objections to the jug, oh, but their heads 
are wake,"* wake — before the fire has got sun-bricht, they are 
laucliin-fou — you then fin' them out to be rejected contribu- 
tors to Blackwood ; and you hear that they're Whigs frae 
their wee, sharp, shrill, intermittin, dissatisfied, and rather 
disgustin snore, like a souu' ane aften hoars at nicht in moors 
and mosses, but whence proceedin ane knows not, except it 
be frae some wild-foul distressed in sleep by a stamach fu' o' 
slug-worms mixed wi' mire — for he aiblins leeves by suction. 
Where's Mr. Tickler ? 

North. I saw him slip away a little ago — just as he had 
cleared his boards — 

Sliepherd. I never missed him till the noo. 

North. How delightful for a town-talk teazed poor old man, 
like me, to take refuge, for a month or so, in a deeper solitude 
even than Buchanan Lodsre — the House at the head of the 
Glen, which, know it ever so well, you still have to search for 
among so many knolls, some quite bare, some with a birk or 
two, and some of them each in itself a grove or wood, — self- 
sown all the trees, brushwood, coppice, and standards. 

Shepherd. You're getting desperate descriptive in your 
dotage, sir — dinna froon — there's nae dishonor in dotage, 
when nature's its object. The aulder we grow, our love for 
her gets tenderer and mair tender, for this thocht aften 
comes across our heart, '' In the bosom o' this bonny green 
earth, in how few years — shall I be laid — dust restored to 
dust I " That's a' I mean by dotage. . . . What are ye 
hummin at, sir. You're no gaun to sing ? 

* jraA;e— weak. 



I 



North as a Vocalist. 229 

(North sings.) 

Wliy does tlie sun sliine on me, 
When its light I hate to see ? 
Fain I'd lay me down and dee, 
For o' life I'm weary I 

Oh, 'tis no thy frown I fear— 
'Tis thy smile I canna beai* — 
' Tis thy smile my heart does tear, — 
When thou triest to cheer me. 

Ladies fair hae smiled on me — 
A' their smiles nae joy could gie — 
Never lo'ed 1 ane but thee. 
And I lo'e thee dearly ! 

On the sea the moonbeams play 
Sae they'll shine when I'm away- 
Happy then thou'lt be, and gay, 
When I wander dreary ! 

Shepherd. Some auld fragmentary strain, remindin him, 
nae doubt, o' joys and sorrows laiig ago ! He has a pathetic 
vice — but sing what tune he may, it still slides awa into 
« Stroud Water." 

North. Oh, James ! a drenm of the olden time — 
Shepherd. Huts ! huts ! I wush you maunna be gettin 
rather a wee fuddled, sir — hafflins fou. Preserve me ! are ye 
greetin ? The whusky's maist terrible strongs — and I suspect 
has never been chrissened. It's time we be aff ! Oh ! what 
some o' them he has knouted wad gie to see him in this 
condition ! But there's the wheels o' the cotch. Or is't a 
fire-engine ? 

(^En'er A-UBROSE, to announce the arrival of the coach.) 

Dinna look at him, Mr. Ambrose — he's gotten the toothache 
■ — and likewise some ingan in his een. This is aye the way 
wi' him noo, — he fa's aff a' on a sudden — and begins greetin 
at naething, or at things that's rather amusin as itherwise. 



280 The Shepherd consoles North, 

There's mony thousan' ways o' gettin fou — and I lien nae 
mair philosophical employment than, in sic cityations, the 
study o' the varieties o' human character. 

North. Son James — 

Shepherd. Pardon, Father — 'twas but a jeest. I've kent 
you noo the better pairt o' twunty years — and never saw I 
thae bricht een — that bricht brain obscured, — ^for wi' a' our 
daffin — our weel-timed daffin — our dulce est desipere in loco 
— that's Latin, you ken — we return to our hame, or our 
lodgings, as sober as Quakers — and as peace fu', too — well- 
wishers, ane and a', to the haill human race — even the verra 
Wheegs. 

North. Sometimes, my dear Shepherd, my life from 
eighteen to twenty-four is an utter blank, like a moonless 
midnight — at other times, oh ! what a refulgent day ! Had 
you known me then, James, you would — 

Shepherd. No hae liked you half as weel's I do noo — for 
then, though you was doubtless tall and straucht as a tree, 
and able and willin baith to fecht man, dowg, or deevil, wi' 
een, tongue, feet, or hauns, yet, as doubtless, you was 
prouder nor Lucifer, But noo that you're bent doun no that 
muckle, just a wee, and your " lyart haffits wearing thin 
and bare," sae pleasant, sae cheerfu', sae fu' o' allooances for 
the fauts and frailties o' your fellow-creturs, provided only 
they proceed na frae a bad heart — it's just perfeckly im- 
possible no to love the wise, merry auld man — 

North. James, I wish to consult you and Mr. Ambrose 
about the propriety and prudence of my marrying — 

Shepherd. Never heed ye propriety and prudence, sir, i i 
mairrying, ony mair than ither folk. Mairry her, sir — 
mairry her — and I'll be godfather — for the predestined 
mither o' him will be an Episcopaulian — to wee Christopher. 
Let us off to Southside — and sup with Tickler. 



Off to Southside. 231 

Glee — -for three voices. 

Fall de rail de, 
Fall, lall, lall de, 
Fall de lall de, 
Fall, lall le, &c. 

[^Exeunt amho et Ambkosb. 



XVI. 

IN WniC II, AFTER NORTH IS HANGED AND DRO WNED 

IN A DREAM, THE SHEPHERD IS TEMPTED 

AND FALLS. 

Scene, — Large DiniJig-room. — Time uncertain. — North dis' 
covered sitting upright in his easy-chair, with arms akimbo 
on his crutch^ asleep. 

Enter the SnEPHERD and Mr. Ambrose. 

Shepherd. Lord safe us ! only look at him sitting asleep. 
What'n a face ! — Dinna leave the parlor, Mr. Awmrose, for 
it would be fearsome to be alane wi' the Vision. 

Ambrose. The heat of the fire has overcome the dear old 
gentleman — but he will soon awake ; and may I make so 
bold, ]\Ir. Hogg, as to request that you do not disturb — 

Shephei'd. What ! Wad ye be for my takin aff my shoon, 
and glidin ower the Turkey carpet on my stockin soles, like 
a pard or panther on the Libyan sands ? 

Ambrose (sicaviter in modo). I beg pardon, sir, but you have 
got on 3'our top-boots * this evening. 

Shepherd. YA\ ! sae Ihae. And trying to rug them aff, tae 
an' heel, aneath the fit o' a chair, wad be sure to wauken him 
wi' ane o'thae froons o' his, aneuch to daunt the deevil. 

Ambrose. I never saw Mr. North frown, Mr. Hogg, since 

* Top-boots, at this period not imcommoii, were a favorite attire of the 
SliepluTd. 
232 



North asleep. 233 

we came to Picardy. I hope, sir, you think him in his usual 
health ? 

Shepherd. That's a gude ane, Awmrose. You think him 
near his latter end, 'cause he's gien up that hellish froon that 
formerly used sae aften to make his face frichtsome ? Ye 
ne'er saw him froon sin' ye cam to Picardy ? — Look there — 
only look at the cretuj^'s face — 

A darkness comes across it, like a squall 
Blackening tlie seju 

Ambrose. I fear he suffers some inward qualm, sir. His 
stomach, I fear, sir, is out of order. 

Shepherd. His stamach is ne'er out o' order. It's an 
ingine that aye works sweetly. But what think you, Mr. 
Awmrose, 6' a quawm o' conscience ? 

Ambrose. Mr. North never, in all his life, I am sure, so 
much as injured a fly. Oh! dear me ! he must be in very 
great pain. 

Shepherd. — . 

So frooned he ance, when in an angry parle 
He smote the sliding Pollock on the ice. 

Ambrose. You allude, sir, to that day at the curling on 
Duddingston Loch. But you must allow, Mr. Hogg, that the 
brute of a carter deserved the crutch. It was pretty to see 
the old gentleman knock him down. The crack on the ice 
made by the carter's skull was like a star, sir. 

Shepherd. The clud's blawn aff — and noo his countenance 
is pale and pensive, and no without a kind o' reverend beauty, 
no very consistent wi' his waukin character. But the faces 
o' the most ferocious are a' placid in sleep and in death. That 
is an impressive fizziological and sykological fack. 

Ambrose. How can you utter the word death in relation 
to him, Mr. Hogg ? Were he dead, the whole world might 
shut up shop. 



3U Portrait of North. 

Shepherd. Na, na. Ye micht, but no the warld. There 
never lecved a man the warld missed, ony mair than a great, 
green, spreading simmer tree misses a leaf that fa's doun on 
the moss aneath its shadow. 

Amhrose. Were you looking round for something, sir ? 

Shepherd. Ay ; gie me tliat cork aff yon table — I'll burn*t 
on the fire, and then blacken his face wi' coom. 

Amhrose {placing himself in an imposing attitude between 
North and the Shepherd). Then it must be through my 
body, sir. Mr. Hogg, I am always proud and happy to see 
you in my house ; but tlie mere idea of such an outrage — 
such sacrilege — horrifies me ; the roof would fall down — the 
whole land — 

Shepherd. Tuts, man, I'm only jokin. Oh! but he wad 
mak a fine pictur ! I wish John Watson Gordon were but 
here to pent his face in iles. What a mass o' forehead ! an 
inch atween every wrinkle, noo scarcely visible in the calm 
o' sleep ! Frae eebree to croon o' the head a lofty mountain 
o' snaw — a verra Benledi — wi' rich mineral ore aneath the 
surface, within the bowels o' the skull, copper, silver, and gold ! 
Then what a nose ! Like a bridge, along which might be driven 
cart-loads o' intellect ; — neither Roman nor Grecian, hookit 
nor cockit, a wee thocht inclined to the ae side, the pint being 
a pairt and pendicle o' the whole, an object in itsel, but at the 
same time finely smoothed aff and on intil the featur ; while 
his nostrils, small and red, look as they would emit fire, and 
had the scent o' a jowler or a vultur. 

Amhrose. There never were such eyes in a human head — 

Shepherd. I like to see them sometimes shut. The instant 
Mr. North leaves the room, after denner or sooper, it's the 
same thing as if he had carried aff wi' him twa o' the fowre 
cawnles. 

Amhrose. I have often felt that, sir, — exactly that, — but 



Poaclilng 07i Hogg's Preserves. 235 

never could express it. If at any time he falls asleep, it is 
just as if the waiter or myself had snuffed out — 

Shepherd. Let my image alane, Mr. Awmrose, and dinna 
ride it to death — double. But what I admire maist o' a' in 
the face o' him, is the auld man's mouth. There's a warld's 
difference, Mr. Awmrose, atween a lang mouth and a wide ane. 

Ambrose. There is, Mr. Hogg, there is — they are two 
different mouths entirely. I have often felt that, but could 
not express it — 

Shepherd. Mr. Awmrose, you're a person that taks notice 
o' a hantle o' things — and there canna be a stronger proof, or 
a better illustration, of the effeck o' the conversation o' a man 
o' genius like me, than its thus seeming to express former 
feelings and fancies of the awditor — whereas the truth is, 
that it disna wauken them for the second time, but com- 
municates them for the first — for believe me, that the idea 
o' the cawnles, and eke o' the difference wi' a distinction 
atween wide mouths and lang anes, never entered your 
mind afore, but are baith, bonafeedy, the proj)erty o' my ain 
intelleck. 

Ambrose. I ask you many pardons, Mr. Hogg. They are 
both your own, I now perceive, and I promise never to make 
use of them without your permission in writing — or — 

Shepherd. Poo — I'm no sae pernickitty * as that about my 
original ideas ; only when folk do mak use o' my obs, I think 
it but fair they should add, " as Mr. Hogg well said," " as the 
Ettrick Shepherd admirably remarked," "as the celebrated 
author o' the Queen'' s Wake, wi' his usual fellolty, obsprv^/l " 
' — and so forth — and ma faith, if some folk that's reckoned 
yeloquent at roots and petty soopers were aye to do that 
when they're what's ca'd maist brilliant, my name wad be 
seldom out o' their mouths. Even North himsel — 

* Pernickitty — particular. 



236 TJie Doot7'ine of Dreayns 

Amhrose. Do not be angrj with me, sir — but it's most 
delightful to hear Mr. North and you bandying matters across 
the table ; ye take such diiferent views always of the same 
subject ; yet I find it, when standing behind the chair, impos- 
sible not to agree with you both. 

Shepherd. That's just it, Mr. Awmrose. That's the way 
to exhowst a subject. The ane o' us ploughs down the rig, 
and the ither across, then on wi' the harrows, and the field 
is like a garden. 

Amhrose. See, sir, he stirs ! 

Shepherd. The crutch is like a very tree growin out o' the 
earth — so straucht and steddy. I daursay he sleeps wi't in 
his bed. Noo — ^you see his mouth to perfection — ^just a wee 
open — showing the teeth — a smile and no a snarl — the thin 
lips o' him slightly curled and quiverin, and the corners 
drawn doun a wee, and then up again wi' a swirl, giein won- 
derfu' animation to his yet ruddy cheeks — a mouth unitin in 
ane Mr. Jaffray's and that o' Canning's and Cicero's busts. 

Amhrose. No young lady — no widow — could look at him 
now, as he sits there, Mr. Hogg, God bless him, without 
thinkinor of a first or second husband. ManV is the q&qv he 
must have refused ! 

Shepherd. Is that your fashun in Yorkshire, Mr. Awmrose, 
for the woffien to ask the men to marry ? 

Amhrose (susurrans). Exceptio prohat regidam^ sir. 

Shepherd. Faith, ye speak Latin as weel's mysel. Do you 
ken the Doctrine o' Dreams ? 

u^TTchrusK. ]sro, sir. Dreaming seems to me a very unin- 
telligible piece of business. 

Shepherd. So thinks Mi'. Coleridge and " Kubla Khan." =^ 
But the sowl, ye see, is swayed by the senses — and it's in 
my power the noo, that Mr. North's half-sleepin and haif- 

* A poam said by Coleridge to have been composed in bis sleep. 



Proved by drowning North 237 

waukin, to inak him dream o' a' sorts o' deaths — nay, to 
dream that he is himsel dreein * a' sorts o' deaths — ane 
after the ither in ruefu' succession, as if he were some great 
criminal undergoing capital punishments in the wild warld 
o' sleep. 

Ambrose. That would be worse than blacking my dear 
master's face — for by that name I love to call him. You 
must not inflict on him the horror of dreams. 

Shepherd. There can be nae such thing as cruelty in a 
real philosophical experiment. In philosophy, though not in 
politics, the end justifies the means. Be quiet, Awmrose. 
There, noo, I hae drapt some cauld water on his bald pow — 
and it's tricklin doun his haffits to his lugs. Whisht ! wait 
a wee ! There na, ye see his mouth openin, and his chest 
heavin, as if the waters o' the deep sea were gullering in his 
throat. He's now droonin ! 

Ambrose, I cannot support this — Mr. Hogg — I must — 

Shepherd. Haud back, sir ! Look how he's tryin to streik 
out liis richt leg as if it had gotten the cramp. He's tryin 
to cry for help. Noo he has risen to the surface for the third 
and last time. Noo he gies ower strugglin, and sinks doun 
to the broon-ribbed sand amang the crawlin partens ! t 

Ambrose. I must — I shall waken him — 

Shepherd. The dreamed death-fit is ower, for the water's 
dried — and he thinks himsel walkin up Leith Walk, and then 
straucht intil Mr. Blackwood's shop. But noo we'll hang 
liim — 

Ambrose. My God ! that it should ever have come to this ! 
Yet there is an interest in such philosophical experiments, 
Mr. Hogg, which it is impossible to resist. But do not, J 
beseech you, keep him long in pain. 

Shepherd. There — I just ticliten a wee on his wizen Mm 

* Dreein— snfiexXnsi. ♦ Partens- ^TS.hn. 



238 And hy hanging him. 

black neck-hankerchief, and in a moment you'll see him get 
blue in the face. Quick as the " lightning on a collied 
night," the dream comes athwart his sowl ! He's on the 
scaffold, and the grey-headed, red-eyed, white-faced hang- 
man's lean, shrivelled hands are fumblin about his throat, 
fixing the knot on the juglar ! See how puir North clutches 
the cambric, naturally averse to fling it frae him, as a signal 
for the drap ! It's no aboon a minute since we began the 
experiment, and yet during that ae minute has he planned 
and perpetrated his crime — nae dout murder — concealed 
himsel for a month in empty hovels and tombs, in towns, — • 
in glens, and muirs, and woods, in the kintra, — been appre- 
hended, for a reward o' one hundred guineas, by twa red- 
coated sheriff' s-officers, — imprisoned till he had nearly run 
his letters, — stood his trial frae ten in the mornin till twelve 
o'clock at nicht — examination o' witnesses, the speech o' the 
croon coonsel, and that o' the coonsel for the panel too, and 
the soumin up o' the Lord Justice-Clerk, nane o' the three 
shorter than twa hours, — been prayed till, frae daybreak to 
breakfast, by three ministers, — oh, sickenin breakfast ! — sat'n 
in a chair on account o' his gout — a lang, lang time on the 
scaffold — and then aff he goes with a swing, a swirl, and a 
general shriek — and a' within the space o' some forty seconds 
o' the time that passes in the outer air world which we 
wauken creatures inhabit ; — but which is the true time, and 
which is the fause, it's no for me to say, for I'm nae meta- 
physician, and judge o' time either by the shadows on the 
hill, or on the stane sun-dial, or by the short and lang haun 
o' our aught-day clock. 

Ambrose. Mr. Hogg, it is high time this were put an end 
to, — my conscience accuses me of a great crime, — and the 
moment Mr. North awakes, I will make a clean bosom of itf 
and confess the whole. 



Ambrose to the Rescue ! 239 

Shepherd. What ! you'll peach, will you ? In that case, il 
is just as weel to proceed to the last extremity. Rax me 
ower the carvin-knife, and I'll guillotine him — 

Ambrose. Shocking, shocking, Mr. Hogg ! 

( The Shepherd and Ambrose struggle violently for tJie 
possession of the carving-knife, amid cries from the 
latter of " Thieves ! Rohhers I Fire ! Murder ! " — 
and in the struggle they fall against the chimney-piece 
to the clash of shovel, poker, and tongs. Bronte, 
who has been sleeping under North's chair, hursts out 
with a hidl-lelloio, a tiger-growl, and a lion-roar — and 
North awakes — collaring the Shepherd.) 

Rronte. Bow — wow — wow — wow — wow — wow — 

Shepherd. Ca' aff your dowg, Mr. North — ca' aff your 
dowg ! He's devourin me — 

North (imdisturbed from his former posture^. Gentlemen, 
what is the meaning of all this — you seem discomposed ? 
James ! engaged in the duello with Mr. Ambrose ? ' Mr. 
Ambrose ! \Exit Mr. Ambrose, retrogrediens^ much confused' 

Shepherd. I'll ca' him out — I'll ca' him out wi' pistols ! He 
was the first aggressor. 

North. Arrange your dress, James, then sit down, and 
narrate to me truly these plusquam civilia bella. 

Shepherd. Why, ye see, sir, a gentleman in the hotel, a 
Russian General, I believe, was anxious to see you sleepin, 
and to take a sketch o' you in that predicament for the 
Emperor, and Mr. Awmrose insisted on bringin him in, 
whether I would or no, — and as I know you have an an- 
tipathy against having your head taken aff — as naebody can 
hit the face, and a' the likenesses yet attempted are mere 
caricatures — I rose to oppose the entrance o' the General. 
Mr. Awmrose put himsel into what I could not but construe 
a fechtin attitude, though I daursay it was only on the 



240 -H'-^<J[I ^'^ ^"'^ Mettle. 

defensive; we yokit, and on me tryin to hough him, we 
tumbled again' the mantel-piece, and you awoke. This ia 
the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. 

(XoRTH rings the bell violently, and Mr. Ambrose appears.) 

North. Show in the Russian General, sir ! 

Amhrose. The Russian General, sir ! 

North. How dare you repeat my words ? I say, sir, show 
in the Russig-n General. 

Shepherd. Haw — haw — haw — haw — haw — haw — haw — 
haw I I'm like to spleet ! Haw — haw — haw — haw — ^haw^ — 
haw 1 

North {with dignity). These manners, sir, may do in Ettrick 
— or the Forest — where the breed of wild boars is not wholly 
extirpated — but in Edinburgh we expect — 

Shepherd. Na — gin that be the way o't, I maun be on my 
mettle too. As for your wutticism, sir, about the boars, it's 
just .perfectly contemptible, and, indeed, at the best, nae 
better than a maist meeserable pun. And as to mainners, I'll 
bet you a ten-gallon cask to a half-mutchkin, that I'll show 
an elder in Yarrow Kirk, ony Sabbath atween this and 
Christmas, that shall outmainner your ainsel, wi' a' your 
high breedin, in everything that constitutes true natural 
dignity — and as for female mainners, seleck the maist 
yelegant and fashionable leddy that you see walkin alang 
Princes Street, wi' a bonnet bigger than a boyne,* atween 
three and four o' the afternoon, when the street's like a 
stream, and gin I dinna bring frae the Forest, within a mile's 
range, wi' Mount Benger the centre of the circle, a bare- 
ieggit lassie, wi' hauns, aiblins, red and hard wi' mil kin the 
coos, wi' naething on her head but a bit pinchbeck kame, 
that shall outmainner your city madam, till she blush black 
through the red pent on her cheeks — my name's no James 
* Boj/ne—a large wooden tub. 



High Jinks. 241 

Hogg — tliat's a'. And whether you tak the wager or no, let 
me tell you to the face o' you, that you're a damned arrogant, 
upsettin, impudent fallow, and that I do not care the crack o' 
my thoom for you, or your Magazin, or your Buchanan Lodge, 
were you and they worth ten thousand million times mair than 
what you ever will be, as lang's your name's Christopher North! 

North. James, you are a pretty fellow. Nothing will satisfy 
you, it seems, but to insult most grossly the old man whom 
you have first drowned in his sleep, then hanged, and, but for 
my guardian angel, Ambrose, would have guillotined ! 

Shepherd. What ! and you were pretending to be asleep a' 
the while o' the pheelosophical experiments ? What a horrid 
heepocrit ! You're really no fit company for plain, simple, 
honest folk like the like o' me ; but as we've been baith to 
blame, especially you, who began it a' by shammin sleep, let's 
shake hauns, and say nae mair about it. Do you ken I'm 
desperate hungry — and no a little thursty. 

{Re-enter Mr. Ambrose, in trim apparel and downcast 
eyes, with a board of oysters.) 

North, Bless you, James ! You wheel me round in my chair 
to the table with quite a filial touch. Ay, my dear boy, take 
a pull at the porter, for you are in a violent perspiration. 

Shepherd. Naething like draft ! 

North. Mr. Ambrose, confine the Russian General to his 
chamber — and see that you keep him in fresh train-oil. 

\_Exit Mr. Ambrose, smiling through his tears. 

North. James, I shrewdly suspect Mr. Ambrose is up to our 
high-jinks. 

Shepherd. I really begin to jalouse he is. He was sair 
frichtened at first — but I thocht I heard him geein a bit grunt 
o' a lauch, a sort o' suppressed nicher, ahint the door, to the 
flunkeys in the trance, wha had a' flocked thegitherin acrood 
at the cry o' Fire and Murdei*. 



242 North's Attack of Cholera. 

North. I. feel as if au oppressive weight were taken from 
Diy heart. 

Shepherd. Then that's mair than I do — mair than you or 
ony ither man should say, after devoorin half a hunder eisters 
— and siccan eisters — to say naething o' a tippenny loaf, a 
quarter o' a pund o' butter — and the better pairt o' twa pots 
o' porter. 

North. James ! I have not eat a morsel, or drank a drop, 
since breakfast. 

Shepherd. Then I've been confusioning you wi' mysel. A' 
the time that I was sookin up the eisters frae out o' their 
shells, ilka ane sappier than anither in its shallow pool o' 
caller saut sea-water, and some o' them takin a stronger sook 
than ithers to rug them out o' their cradles, — I thocht I saw 
you, sir, in my mind's ee, and no by my bodily organs, it 
would appear, doin the same to a nicety, only dashin on mair 
o' the pepper, and mixing up mustard wi' your vinegar, as if 
gratifying a fause appeteet. 

North. That cursed cholera — 

Shepherd. I never, at ony time o' the year, hae recourse to 
the cruet till after the lang hunder — and in September — after 
four months' fast frae the creturs — I can easily devoor them 
by theirsels just in their ain liccor, on till anither fifty — and 
then to be sure, just when I am beginning to be a wee 
stawed,* I apply first the pepper J;o a squad, and then, after a 
score or twa in that way, some dizzen and a half wi' vinegar, 
and finish aff, like you, wi' a wheen to the mustard, till the 
brodd's naething but shells. 

North. The cholera has left me so weak, that — 

Shepherd. I dinna ken a mair perplexin state o' mind to be 
in than to be swithering about a further brodd o' eisters, when 
you've devoored what at ae moment is felt to be sufficient, 

* Stawed—nnrieiieA. 



Hogg 8 Insenuhility. 243 

and auither moment what is felt to be very insufficient— 
feelin stawed this moment, and that moment yaup ^ as ever 
— noo sayin into yoursel that you'll order in the toasted 
cheese, and then silently swearin that you maun hae anither 
yokin at the beardies — 

North. This last attack, James, has reduced me much — and 
a few more like it will deprive the world of a man whose poor 
abilities were ever devoted to her ser — 

Shepherd. I agree wi' ye, sir, in a' ye say about the diffee- 
cul ty o' the dilemma. But during the dubiety and the 
swither, in comes honest Mr. Awmrose, o' his ain accord, wi' 
the final brodd, and a body feels himsel to have been a great 
sumph for suspecking ae single moment that he wasna able 
for his share o' the concluding Centenary o' Noble Inventions. 
There's really no end in natur to the eatin o' eisters. 

North. Really, James, your insensibility, your callousness 
to my complaints, painfully affects me, and forces me to be- 
lieve that Friendship, like Love, is but an empty name. 

Shepherd. An empty wame ? f It's your ain faut gin it's 
empty — but you wadna surely be for eatin the very shells ? 
Oh ! Mr. North, but o' a' the men I ever knew you are the 
most distinguished by natural and native coortesy and polite- 
ness — by what Cicero calls Urbanity. Tak it — tak it. For, 
I declare, were I to tak it, I never could forgie mysel a' my 
days. Tak it, sir. — My dear sir, tak it. 

North. What do you mean, James ? What the devil can 
you mean ? 

Shepherd. The last eister — the mainners eister — it's but a 
wee ane, or it hedna been here. There, sir, I've douked it in 
an amalgamation o' pepper, vinegar, and mustard, and a wee 
drap whusky. Open your mouth, and tak it aff the pint o' 
my fork — that's a gude bairn. 

* Fok;?— hungry. t TFame— stomach. 



244 No7'tKs Confession. 

North. I have been very ill, my dear James. 

Shepherd. Haud your tongue — nae sic thing. Your cheeks 
are no half that shrivelled they were last year ; and there's a 
circle o' yeloquent bluid in them baith, as ruddy as Robin's 
breast. Your lips are no like cherries — ^but they were aye 
ratlier thin and colorless since first I kent you ; and when 
chirted thegither — oh ! man, but they have a scornfu', and 
savage, and cruel expression, that ought seldom to be on a 
face o' clay. As for your een, there's twenty guid year o' life 
in their licht yet. But, Lord safe us ! — dinna, I beseech you, 
put on your specks ; for when you cock up your chin, and lie 
back on your chair, and keep fastenin your lowin een upon a 
bodv through the glasses, it's mair than mortal man can 
endure — you look so like the Deevil Incarnate. 

North. I am a much injured man in the estimation of the 
world, James, for I am gentle as a sleeping child. 

Shepherd. Come, now — you're wushin me to flatter you — 
ye're desperate fond, man, o' flattery. 

North. I admit — confess — glory that I am so. It is im- 
possible to lay it on too thick. All that an author has to do 
to secure a favorable notice — 

Shepherd. What'n an avooal ! 

North. Why, James, are you so weak as ever to have 
imagined for a moment that I care a pin's point for truth, 
in the praise or blame bestowed or inflicted on any mortal 
creature in my Magazine ? 

Shepherd. What's that you say ? — can I believe my lugs ? 

North. I have been merely amusing myself for a few years 
back with the great gawky world. The truth is, James, that 
I am a misanthrope, and have a liking only for Cockneys. 

Shepherd. The chandaleer's gaun to fa' doan on our heads. 
Eat your words, sir, eat your words, or — 

North. You would not have me lie, during the only time 



The Shepherd's Horror. 245 

that, for many years, I have felt a desire to speak the tt^th ? 
The only distinctions I acknowledge are intellectual ones. 
Moral distinctions there are none — and as for religion — it is 
all a — 

Shepherd (standing up). And it's on principles like these 
— Ijoldly and unblushingly avoo'd here — in ^Lr. Awmrose's 
paper-parlor, at the conclusion o' the sixth brodd, on the 
evening o' Monday the 22d o' September, Anno Dominie 
aughteen hunder and twunty-aught, within twa hours o' mid- 
nicht — that you, sir, have been yeditin a Maggasin that has 
gone out to the uttermost comers o' the yerth, wherever 
civilization or uncivilization is known, deludin and distrackin 
men and women folk, till it's impossible for them to ken their 
right hand frae their left — or whether they're standin on their 
heels or their heads — or what byeuk ought to be perused, 
and what byeuk puttin in til the bottom o' pie-dishes and 
trunks — or what awthor hissed, or what awthor hurraa'd — or 
what's flummery and what's philosophy — or what's rant and 
what's religion — or what's monopoly and what's free tredd — 
or wha's poets or wha's but Pats — or whether it's best to be 
drunk, or whether it's best to be sober a' hours o' the day and 
nicht — or if there should be rich church establishments as in 
England, or poor kii-k ones as in Scotland — or whether the 
Bishop o' Canterbury, wi' twnnty thousan' a year, is mair like 
a primitive Christian than the ]Minister o' Kirkintulloch wi' 
twa hunder and fifty — or if folk should aye be readin sermons 
or fishin for sawmon — er4f it's best to marry or best to burn 
— or if the national debt hangs like a mUlstone round the 
neck o' the kintra or like a chain o' blae-berries — or if the 
Millennium be really close at haun, or the present Solar 
System be calculated to last to a' eternity — or whether the 
people should be edicated up to the highest pitch o' perfec- 
tion, or preferably to be all like trotters through the Bog o' 



246 The Shepherd is tempted. 

^llen — or whether the Governmerit should subsideeze foreign 
powers, or speud a' its siller on oursels — or whether the 
Blacks and the Catholics should be emancipawted or no afore 
the demolition o' Priest and Obis — or whether — God forgie 
us baith for the hypothesis — man has a mortal or an im- 
mortal sowl — ^be a Phoenix — or an Eister ! 

North. Precisely so, James. You have drawn my real 
character to a hair — and the character, too, of the baleful 
work over which I have the honor and happiness to preside. 

Shepherd. I canna sit here on}'- langer, and hear a' things, 
visible and invisible, turned tapsy-turvy and tapsalteerie — 
I'm aff — I'maff — I'm ower to the Auld Toon to tak toddy wi' 
Christians, and no wi' an Atheist, that would involve the 
warld in even-doun Pyrrhonism — and disorder, if he could, 
the verra coorses o' the seven Planets, and set the central Sun 
adrift through the sky. Gude-nicht to ye, sir — gude-nicht. — 
Ye are the maist dangerous o' a' reprobates — for your private 
conduct and character is that o' an angel, but your public 
that o' a fiend ; and the honey o' your domestic practice can 
be nae antidote to the pushion o' your foreign principles. I'm 
aff— I'm aff. 

{Enter Mr. Ambrose with a Howtowdie, and King Pepin 
with Potatoes and Ham.^ 

Shepherd {in continuation). What brought ye in til the room 
the noo, Mr. Awmrose, wi' a temptation sic as that— ruae flesh 
and bluid can resist ? Awa back to the kitchin wi' the sa- 
vory sacrifice — or clash doun the Towdie afore the Bagman 
in the wee closet-room ayont the wainscot. What'n a bonny, 
brown, basted, buttery, iley, and dreepin breast o' a roasted 
Earock. O' a' the smells I ever fan, that is the maist in- 
supportably seducin to the palate. It has gien me the water- 
brash. Weel, weel, Mr. North, since you insist on't, we'll 
resume the argument after supper. 



The Shepherd's Fall. 247 

North. Good-night, James. — Ambrose, deposit theTowdie, 
and show Mr. Hogg down stairs. Lord bless you, James — 
good-night. 

Shepherd (securing his seat). Dinna say anither word, sir. 
Nae farther apology. I forgie you. Ye wasna serious. 
Come, be cheerfu' — I'm sune pacified. Oh, man, but ye cut 
up a fool * wi' incredible dexterity ! There — a leg and a 
wing to yoursel — and a leg and a wing to me — then, to you 
the breast — for I ken ye like the breast — and to me the back 
—and I dinna dislike the back, — ^and then, Howtowdie! 
" Farewell ! a long farewell to all thy fatness." Oh, sir ! but 
the taties are gran' the year ! How ony Christian creature 
can prefer waxies to mealies, I never could conjecture. 
Anither spoonfu' or twa o' the gravy. Haud — baud — what 
a deluge ! 

North. This, I trust, my dear Shepherd, will be a good 
season for the poor. 

Shepherd. Nae fear o' that, sir. Has she ony eggs ? But I 
forgot — the hens are no layin the noo ; they're mootin.f 
Faith, considering ye didna eat mony o' the- eisters, your 
appeteet's no amiss, sir. Pray, sir, will ye tell me gin there 
be ony difference atween this new-fangled Oriental disease, 
they ca' the Cholera, and the gude auld-fashion'd Scottish 
complent, the colic ? For gudesake, dinna drain the dolphin ! 

North. A mixture of Giles's and Berwick — ^nectar worthy 
an ambrosial feast ! 

Shepherd. It gars myeen water, and my lugs crack. Noo 
for the toasted cheese. 

(Enter Taffy with two Welsh RahUtSi and exit.) 

* Fool— fowl. t MoottTir—jnovLlting. 



xvn. 

TEE HAGGIS DELUGE. 

Scene I. — The Octagon. — Time^ — Ten. 

North. — Shepherd. — Tickler. 

North. Thank Heaven ! my dear Shepherd, Winter is come 
again, and Edinburgh is beginning once more to look like 
herself, like her name and her nature, with rain, mist, sleet, 
haur, hail, snow I hope, wind, storm — would that we could 
but add a little thunder and lightning — the Queen of the 
North. 

Shepherd. Hoo could you, sir, wi' a' your time at your ain 
command, keep in and about Embro' f rae May to December ? 
The city, for three months in the dead o' simmer, is like a tomb. 

Tichler (in a whisper to the Shepherd). The widow — ^James 
— the widow. 

Shepherd (aloud). The weedow — sir — the weedow ! Couldna 
he hae brocht her out wi' him to the Forest ? At their time 
o' life, surely scandal wad hae held her tongue. 

Tickler, Scandal never holds her tongue, James. She 
drops her poison upon the dew on the virgin's untimely grave 
— her breath will not let the grey hairs rest in the mould — 

Shepherd. Then, Mr. North, marry her at ance, and bring 
her out in Spring, that you may pass the hinney-moon on the 
sunny braes o' Mount Benger. 

North. Why, James, the moment I begin to press matters, 



A Tender Topic. 249 

she takes out her pocket-handkerchief — and through sighs 
and sobs recurs to the old topic — that twenty thousand times 
told tale — the dear old General. 

Shepherd. Deevil keep the dear old General ! Hasna the 
man been dead these twunty years ? And if he had been 
leevin, wuldna he been aulder than yoursel, and far mair in- 
firm ? You're no in the least infirm, sir. 

North. Ah, James ! that's all you know. My infirmities 
are increasing with years — 

Shepherd. Wad you be sae unreasonable as to expect them 
to decrease with years ? Are her infirmities — 

North. Hush — she has no infirmities. 

Shepherd. Nae infirmities ! Then she's no worth a brass 
button. But let me ask you ae interrogatory. — Hae ye ever 
put the question ? Answer me that, sir. 

North. Why, James, I cannot say that I ever have — 

Shepherd. What ! and you expeck that she wull put the 
question to you'^ That would indeed be puttin the cart 
before the horse. If the women were to ask the men, there 
wad be nae leevin in this warld. Yet let me tell you, Mr. 
North, that it's a shamefu' thing to keep playin in the way 
you hae been doin for these ten years past on a young woman's 
feelino^s — 

Tickler. Ha — ha — ha — James ! — A young woman ! Why, 
she's sixty, if she's an hour. 

North. You lie. 

Shepherd. That's a douss * on the chops, Mr. Tickler. 
That's made you as red in the face as a bubbly-jock, sir. Oh, 
the power o' ae wee bit single monosyllabic syllable o' a word 
to awauken a' the safter and a' the fiercer passions ! Dinna 
keep bitin your thoomb, M". Tickler, like an Itawlian ! Make 
an apology to Mr. North — 

* Douss — a blow, a stroke. 



250 North and Tickler embrace. 

North. I will accept of no apology. The man who calls 
A woman old deserves death. 

Shepherd. Did you call her auld, Mr. Tickler ? 

Tickler. To you, sir, I will condescend to reply. I did not. 
I merely said she was sixty if she was an hour. 

Shepherd. In the first place, dinna " Sir " me — for it's not 
only ill-bred, but it's stupit. In the second place, dinna talk 
o' " condescending " to reply to me — ^for that's language I'll no 
thole even f rae the King on the throne, and I'm sure the King 
on the throne wadna mak use o't. In the third place, to ca' a 
woman saxty, and then maintain that ye didna ca' her auld, 
is naething short o' a sophism. And in the fourth place, you 
shudna hae accompanied your remark wi' a loud haw — ^haw — 
haw, — for on a tender topic a guffaw's an aggravation — and 
marryin a widow, let her age be what it wull, is a tender topic, 
depend on't — sae that on a calm and dispassionate view o' a' 
the circumstances o' the case, there can be nae dout that you 
maun mak an apology ; or, if you do not, I leave the room, and 
there is an end of the Noctes Ambrosianae. 

North. An end of the Noctes Ambrosianas ! 

Tickler. An end of the Noctes Ambrosianse ! 

Shepherd. An end of the Noctes Ambrosianae. 

Omnes, An end of the Noctes Ambrosianae ! ! ! 

North. Rather than that should happen, I will make a 
thousand apologies — 

Tickler. And I ten thousand — 

Shepherd. That's behavin like men and Christians. Em- 
brace — embrace. [North and Tickler emhrace. 

North. Where were we, James ? 

Shepherd. I was abusin Embro' in simmer. 

North. Why ? 

Shepherd. Whey ? — a' the lums * smokeless ! No ae f jack 

* Lmna — cliiimjevs. t Ko ae — not on o- 



Edinburgh in Summer. 251 

turnin a piece o' roastin beef afore ae fire in ony ae kitchen in 
a' the New Toon ! Streets and squares a' grass-grown, sae 
that they micht be mawn ! Shops like beehives that hae 
dee'd in wunter ! Coaches settin aff for Stirlin, and Perth, 
and Glasgow, and no ae passenger either inside or out — only 
the driver keepin up his heart wi' flourishing his whip, and 
the guard sittin in perfect solitude, playin an eerie spring on 
his bugle-horn ! The shut-up playhouse a' covered ower wi' 
bills that seem to speak o' plays acted in an antediluvian 
world ! But to return to the near aj^proach o' wunter. 
Mankind hae again putten on worsted stockins, and flannen 
drawers — white jeans and yellow nankeen troosers hae dis- 
appeared — dooble soles hae gotten a secure footen ower pumps 
— big-coats wi' fur, and mantles wi' miniver, gie an agreeable 
rouchness to the picturesque Stream o' life eddyin alang the 
channel o' the streets — gloves and mittens are sae general 
that a red hairy haun looks rather singular — every third body 
ye meet, for fear o' a sudden blash, carries an unbrella — a' 
folk shave noo wi' het water — coal-carts are emptyin theirsels 
into ilka area — caddies at the corners o' the streets and drivers 
on coach-boxes are seen warmin themsels by blawin on their 
fingers, or whuskin themsels wi' their open nieves across the 
shouthers — skates glitter at shop-wundows, prophetic o' frost 
— Mr. Phin may tak in his rod noo, for nae mair thocht o' 
anglin till spring, — and wi' spring hersel, as wi' ither o' our 
best and bonniest freens, it may be said, out o' sicht out o' 
mind. — you see heaps o' bears hung out for sale — horses are 
a hairier o' the hide — the bit toon bantam craws nane, and 
at breakfast you maun tak tent no to pree an ^g'g afore 
smellin at it, — you meet hares carryin about in a' quarters — 
and ggemkeepers proceedin out into the kintra wi' strings o' 
grews, — sparrows sit silent and smoky wi' ruffled feathers, 
waiting for crumbs on the ballustrawds — loud is the cncklin 



252 Womankind in Winter, 

in the fowl-market o' Christmas geese that come a month at 
least afore the day, just like thae Annuals the Forget-me- 
Nots, Amulets, KeejDsakes, Beejoos, Gems, Anniversaries, 
Souvenirs, Friendship's Offerings, and Wunter-Wreaths — 

Tickler. Stop, James — stojD. Such an accumulation of 
imagery absolutely confounds — perplexes — 

Shepherd. Folk o' nae fancy. Then for womankind — 
Tickler. Oh ! James, James ! I knew you would not long 
keep off that theme — 

Shepherd. Oh, ye pawkie auld carle ! What ither theme 
in a' this wide weary warld is worth ae single thocht or feelin 
in the poet's heart — ae single line frae the poet's pen — ae 
single — 

North. Song from the Shepherd's lyre — of which, as of the 
Teian Bard's of old, it may be said : — 

'A (3apj3iTog Je x^p^cnq 
''Epcora fiovvov tjx^i-.^ 

Do, my dear James, give us John Nicholson's daughter. 

Shepherd. Wait a wee. The womankind, I say, sirs, never 
look sae bonny as in wunter, excepp indeed it may be in 
spring — 

Tickler. Or summer or autumn, James — 

Shepherd. Hand your tongue. You old bachelors ken 
naething o' womankind — and hoo should ye, when they 
treat you wi' but ae feelin, that o' derision? Oh, sirs ! but 
the dear creturs do look weel in muffs — whether they haud 
them, wi' their invisible hauns clasped thegither in their 
beauty within the cosy silk linin, close prest to their innicent 
waists, just aueath the glad beatins o' their first-love-touched 
hearts — 

Tickler. There again, James ! 

Shepherd. Or haud them hingin frae their extended richt 

* The liarp witli its strings sounds only love. 



A dear little Laplander. 253 

arms, leavin a' the feegur visible, that seems taller and 
slimmer as the removed muff reveals the clasps o' the pelisse 
a' the way doun f rae neck till feet ! 

North. Look at Tickler — James — how he moves about in 
his chair. His restlessness — 

Shepherd. Is no unnatural. Then, sir, is there, in a' the 
beautifu' and silent unfauldins o' natur amang plants and 
flowers, onything sae beautifu' as the white, smooth, saft 
chafts o' a bit smilin maiden o' saxteen, aughteen, or twunty 
blossomin out, like some bonny bud o' snaw-white satin, frae 
a coverin o' rough leaves, — blossomin out, sirs, frae the edge 
o' the fur tippet, that haply a lover's happy haun had deli- 
cately hung ower her gracefu' shouthers — oh, the dear de- 
lightfu' little Laplander ! 

Tickler. For a married man, James, you really describe — 

North. Whisht I 

Shepherd. I wush you only heard the way the bonny 
croodin-doos * keep murmuring their jeists f to ane anither, 
as soon as a nest o' them gets rid o' an auld bacheleer on 
Princes Street. 

Tickler. Gets rid o' an auld bachelor ! 

Shepherd. Booin and scrapinto them after the formal and 
stately fashion o' the auld school o' politeness, and thinkin 
himsel the very pink o' courtesy, wi' a gold-headed cane; 
aiblins, nae lest, in his haun, and buckles on's shoon — for 
buckles are no quite out yet a'thegither — a frill like a fan at 
the shirt-neck o' him — and, wad the warld believe't, knee- 
breeks ! — then they titter — and then they lauch — and then, 
as musical as if they were singin in pairts, the bonny, 
bloomin, innicent wicked creturs break out into — I maunna 
say, o' sic rosy lips, and sic snawy breasts, a guffaw J — 

* Croo^m-(7oos^-cooing-doves. t Jeists — ^jests. 

t GhaffUw—a. broad laiigb 



254 Tlie Haggis is introduced. 

but a guffay, sirs, a guffay — for that's the feminine o' 
giiifaw — 

North. Tickler, we really must not allow ourselves to be 
insulted in this style any longer — 

Shepherd. And then awa they trip, sirs, flingin an antelope's 
or gazelle's ee ower their shouther, diverted beyond measure 
to see their antique beau continuing at a distance to cut 
capers in his pride — till a' at ance they see a comet in the 
sky — a young offisher o' dragoons, wi' his helmet a' in a low 
wi' a flicker o' red feathers — and as he " turns and winds his 
fiery Pegassus," they are a' mute as death — ^yet every face at 
the same time eloquent wi' mantling smiles, and wi' blushes 
that break through and around the blue heavens of their 
een, like crimson clouds to sudden sunlight burning beauti- 
ful for a moment, and then melting away like a thocht or a 
dream ! 

North. Why, my dear James, it does one's heart good even 
to be ridiculed in the language of Poetry. Does it not, 
Tickler ? 

Tickler. James, your health, my dear fellow. 

Shepherd. I never ridicule onybody, sirs, that's no fit to 
bear it. But there's some sense and some satisfaction in 
makin a f ule o' them, that, when the fiend's in them, can mak 
fules o' a'body, like North and Tickler 

(Enter Mr. Aivibrose with a hot roasted Round of Beef— 
King Pepin icith a couple of boiled Ducks — Sir 
David Gam loith a trencher of Tripe k la Meg Dods — and 
Tappytoorik with a Haggis. Pickled Salmon, Welsh 
Rabbits, ^"c, Sfc. — and, as usual, Oysters, raw, stewed 
scolloped, roasted, and pickled, of course — Rizzards, 
Finzeans, Red Herrings.) 

Shepherd. You've really served up a bonny wee neat bit 
Booper for tliree, Mr. Awmrose. I hate, for my ain pairt, to 



The Haggis overflows. 255 



see a table overloaded. It's sae vulgar. I'll carve the hag- 
gis.* 

North. I beseech you, James, for the love of all that is 
dear to you, here and hereafter, to hold your hand. Stop — 

stop — stop ! 

{The Shepherd sticks the Haggis^ and the Table is 

instantly overfiouoed.^ 

Shepherd. Heavens and earth! is the Haggis mad? 

Tooels ! t Awmrose — tooels ! Safe us ! we'll a' be drooned ! 

[PiCARDY a7id his Tail rush out for towels. 

North. Rash man ! what ruin have you wrought ! See 
how it has overflown the deck from stem to stern — -we shall 
all be lost. 

Shepherd. Sweepin everything afore it ! Whare's the puir 
biled X dyucks? Only the croon-head o' the roun' visible! 
Tooels — tooels — tooels ! Send roun' the fire-drum through 
the city. 

{Re-enter Picardy and " the Rest '' with naoery.) 

Mr. Ambrose. Mr. North, I look to you for orders in the 
midst of this alarming calamity. Shall I order in more 
strength ? 

Shepherd. See — see — sir ! it's creeping alang the carpet ! 
We're like men left on a sandbank, when the tide's comin 
in rampaugin. Oh ! that I had insured my life ! Oh ! that 
I had learned to soom ! § What wull become o' my widow 
and my fatherless children ? 

North. Silence ! Let us die like men. 

Shepherd. O Lord ! it's ower our insteps already ! Open 
a' the doors and wundows — and let it find its ain level. I'll 
up on a chair in the meantime. 

* Ahaggis is the stomaeli of a sheep filled vnth the lungs, heart, and liver 
of the same animal, minced with suet, onions, salt, and pepper. 

t Tooels — towels, % Biled — boiled. § <Soo??i— swim. 



256 The Haggis rises. 

(The Shepherd mounts the back of The ChaiVf 
and draws Mr. North up after him.) 

Sit on my shouthers, my dear — dear — dearest sir. I insist 
on't. Mr. Tickler, Mr. Awmrose, King Pepin, Sir David, 
and Tappitourie — you wee lazy deevil — help Mr. North up — 
help Mr. North up on my shouthers ! 

(Mr. North is elevated, Crutch and all, astride on the 
Shepherd's shoulders.) 

North. Good God ! Where is Mr. Tickler? 

Shepherd. Look — look — look, sir, — yonner he's staunin oh 
the brace piece — on the mantel ! Noo, Awmrose, and a' ye 
waiters, make your escape, and leave us to our fate. Oh ! 
Mr. North, gie us a prayer. — What for do you look so mees- 
erable, Mr. Tickler ? Death is common — 'tis but " passing 
through Natur' to Eternity ! " And yet — to be drooned in 
haggis 'ill be waur than Clarence's dream ! Alack and alas- 
a-day ! it's up to the ring o' the bell-rope ! Speak, Mr. 
Tickler — oh, speak, sir — men in our dismal condition — Are 
you sittin easy, Mr. North ? 

North. Quite so, my dear James, I am perfectly resigned. 
Yet, what is to become of Maga— - 

Shepherd. Oh my wee Jamie ! 

North. I fear I am very heavy, James. 

Shepherd. Dinna say't, sir — dinna say't. I'm like the pious 
^neas bearin his father Ancheeses through the flames o' 
Troy. The sirailie doesna baud gude at a' points — I wish it 
did — oh, baud fast, sir, wi' your arms roun' my neck, lest the 
cruel tyrant o' a haggis swoop ye clean awa under the side- 
board to inevitable death ! 

North. Far as the eye can reach it is one wide wilderness 
of suet ! 

Tickler. Hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! 

Shepherd. Do you hear the puir gentleman, Christopher ? 



The Haggis subsides, 257 

It's affeckin to men in our condition to see the pictur we hae 
baith read o' in accounts o' shipwrecks realeezed ! Timothy's 
gane mad ! Hear till him shoutin wi' horrid glee on the 
brink o' eternity ! 

Tickler. Hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! 

North. Horrible ! most horrible ! 

Tickler. The haggis is subsiding — the haggis is subsiding ! 
It has fallen an inch by the surbase * since the Shepherd's 
last ejaculation. 

Shepherd. If you're tellin a lee, Timothy, I'll wade ower 
to you, and bring you doun aff the mantel wi' the crutch. — 
Can I believe my een ? It is subseedin. Hurraw ! hurraw ! 
hurraw ! Nine times nine, Mr. North, to our deliverance — 
and the Protestant ascendancy. 

Omnes. Hurra ! hurraw ! hurree ! 
'^ Shepherd. Noo, sir, you may dismunt. 

{Re-enter the Household, laith the immediate neighborhood.^ 

Shepherd. High Jinks ! High Jinks ! High Jinks ! The 
haggis has putten out the fire, and sealed up the boiler — 
(The SHErnERD descends upon all-fours, and lets 
Mr. North off gently.) 

North. Oh, James, I am a daft old man! 

Shepherd. No sae silly as Solomon, sir, at your time o' life. 
Noo for sooper. 

Tickler. How the devil am I to get down ? 

Shepherd. How the deevil did you get up ? Oh, ho, by 
the gas ladder ! And it's been removed in the confusion. 
Either jump down — or staj"^ where you are, Mr. Tickler. 

Tickler. Come now, James — shove over the ladder. 

Shepherd. Oh that Mr. Chan trey was here to sculptur him 
in that attitude ! Streitch out your richt haun ! A wee 
grain heicher ! Hoo gran' he looks in basso-relievo ! 

* Surhase—i^Q moulding at tlxe upper edge of the wainscot. 



258 Tickler — High and Dry. 

Tickler. Shove over the ladder, you son of the mist, or I'll 
brain you with the crystal. 

Shepherd. Sit doun, Mr. North, opposite to me — and Mr. 
Awmrose, tak roun' my plate for a shave o' the beef. — Isna 
he the perfeck pictur o' the late Right Honorable William 
Pitt ? — Shall I send you, sir, some o' the biled dyuck ? 

North. If you please, James. — Rather " Like Patience on 
a monument smiling at Grief." 

Shepherd. Gie us a sang, Mr. Tickler, and then you shall 

hae the ladder. I never preed a roasted roun' afore — it's 

real savory. 

North. — 

" Oh ! wlio can tell how hard it is to climb 
The height where Fame's proud temple shines afar ! " 

Shepherd. I'll let you doun, Mr. Tickler, if you touch the 
ceilin wi' your lingers. Itherwise, you maun sing a sang. 

(Tickler tries andfails.^ 

Tickler. Well, if I must sing, let me have a tumbler of toddy. 
Shepherd. Ye shall hae that, sir. 

{The Shepherd yz/Zs a tumbler from the jug, and balancing it 
on the cross of the crutch, reaches it up to Mr. Tickler. 
Tickler sings " The Twa Magicians.") 

Shepherd. Noo — sir — here is the ladder to you — for which 
you're indebted to Mr. Peter Buchan, o' Peterhead, the 
ingenious collector o' the Ancient Ballads, frae which ye 
have chanted so speeritedly the speerited " Twa Magicians." 
It's a capital collection — and should be added in a' libraries, 
to Percy, and Ritson, and Headley, and the Minstrelsy of 
the Border, and John Finlay, and Robert Jamieson, and 
Gilchrist and Kinloch, and the Quarto o' that clever chiel, 
Motherwell *" o' Paisley, wha's no only a gude collector and 

* William Motherwell, born in 1798, the author of some spirited ballada 
Jid editor of Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modem.- He died in 1835. 



Tickler s Aihnents. 259 

commentator o' ballads, but a glide writer o' tbem too — - 
as he has proved by that real poetical address o' a Northman 
to his Swurd inane o' the Annals. Come awa doun, sir — 
come awa doun. Tak tent, for the steps are gej shoggly.* 
Noo — sir — fa' to the roun'. 

Tickler. I have no appetite, James. I have been suffering 
all night under a complication of capital complaints, — the 
toothache, which like a fine attenuated red-hot, steel-sting, 
keeps shooting through an old rugged stump, which to touch 
with my tongue is agony — the tongue-ache, from a blister on 
^■liat weapon, that I begin to fear may prove cancerous — ■ 
the lip-ache, from having accidentally given myself a labial 
wound in sucking out an oyster — the eye-ache, as if an 
absolute worm were laying eggs in the pupil — the ear-ache, 
tinglin and stouninf to the very brain, till my drum seems 
beating for evening parade — to which add a lieadache of the 
hammer-and-anvil kind — and a stomach-ache, that seems to 
intimate that dyspepsy is about to be converted into cholera 
morbus ; and you have a partial enumeration of the causes 
that at present deaden my appetite — and that prevented me 
from chanting the ballad with my usual vivacity. However 
■ — I will trouble you for a duck. 

Shepherd. You canna be in the least pain, wi' sae mony 
complaints as these — for they maun neutraleeze ane anither. 
But even if they dinna, I believe mysel, wi' the Stoics, that 
pain's nae evil. — Dinna you, Mr. North ? 

North. Certainly. But Tickler, you know, has many odd 
crotchets. 

Ambrose (entering with his suavesf physiognomy). Beg par- 
don, Mr. North, for venturing inunrung, but there's a young 
lady wishing to speak with you — 

Shepherd. A young lady ! — show her ben. 

* SJiof/gJy—shfiky. t Stonnin — aching. 



260 Nortlis JSflgliteap, 

North. An anonymous article ? 

Amhrose. No, sir, — Miss Helen Sandford, from the Lodge. 

North. Helen ! — what does she want ? 

Ambrose. Miss Sandford had got alarmed, sir — 

Shepherd. Safe us ! only look at the timepiece ! Four 
o'clock in the mornin ! 

Ambrose. And has walked up from the Lodge — 

North. What ? Alone ! 

Ambrose. No, sir. Her father is with her — and she bids 
me say — now that she knows her master is well — that here 
is your Kilmarnock nightcap. 

[Mr. North submits his head to Picardy, who 
adjusts the nightcap. 

Shepherd. What a cowl ! 

North. A capote — James. Mr. Ambrose, — we three must 
sleep here all night. 

Shepherd. A' mornin, ye mean. Tak care o' Tickler amang 
ye — but recolleck it's no safe to wauken sleepin dowgs. — 
Oh ! man ! Mr. North ! sir ! but that was touchin attention 
in puir Eelen. She's like a dochter, indeed. — Come awa, 
you auld vagabon, to your bed. I'll kick open the door 
o' your dormitory wi' my fit, as I pass alang the transe in 
the mornin ! The mornin ! Faith, I'm beginnin already to 
get hungry for breakfast ! Come awa, you auld vagabon 
— come awa. 

\_Exeunt North and Shepherd, /oZ^ow;e6? by the Height 
of Tickler, to Roost. 

North {singing as they go) — 

" Early to bed, and early to rise, 
Is the "way to be liealtby, wealthy, and wise 1 " 

Da Capo, 



XYIII. 

IN WHICH THE SHEPHERD, HAVING SKATED FROM 
YA RR W, TAKES A PLO UTER. 

Scene I. — The Snuggery. Time, — Nine in the Evening. 
North and Tickler. 

TicTcler. Replenish. That last jug was most illustrious. I 
wish James were here. 

North. Hush ! hark ! It must be he ! — and yet 'tis not just 
the pastoral tread either of the Bard of Benger. " Alike, but 
oh ! how different ! " 

Tickler. " His very step has music in't as he comes up the 
stair ! " 

Shepherd (bursting in loith a hang^. Huzzaw ! Huzzaw ! 
Huzzaw ! 

North. God bless you, James ; your paw, my dear Sus. 

Shepherd. Fresh frae the Forest, in three hours — 

Tickler. What ! thirty-six miles ? 

North. So it is true that you have purchased the famous 
American trotter ? 

Shepherd. Nae trotters like my ain trotters ! I've won ray 
bate, sirs. 

North. Bet? 

Shepherd. Ay, — a bate, — a bate o' twenty guineas. 

Tickler. What the deuce have you got on your feet, James ? 

»6l 



262 The Shepherd arrives. 

Shepherd. Skites.* I've skited frae St. Mary's Locla to 
the Canawl Basin in fowre minutes and a half within the 
three hours, without turnin a hair. 

Tickler. Do keep a little farther off, James, for your face 
has waxed intolerably hot, and I perceive that you have 
raised the thermometer a dozen degrees. 

Shepherd (^Jlingiiig a purse of gold on the table). It 'ill 
require a gey Strang thaw to melt that, chiels ; sae tak your 
change out o' that, as Josephf saj'-s, either in champagne, or 
yill, or porter, or Burgundy, or cedar, or Glenlivet — justwha^ 
somever you like best to drink or devoor ; and we shanna 
be lang without supper, for in coming alang the transe 1 
shooted to Tappy toorie forthwith to send in samples o' all the 
several eatables and drinkables in Picardy. I'm desperate 
hungry. Lowse my skites, Tickler. 

[Tickler succumbs to unthong the Shepherd's skates 

Tickler. What an instep ! 

Shepherd. Ay, nane o' your plain soles, that gang shiffle- 
shaifling amang the chuckystanes assassinatin a' the insects ; 
but a foot arched like Apollo's bow when he shot the Python 
— heel, of a firm and decided but unobtrusive character — and 
taes, ilka ane a thocht larger than the ither, like a family o 
childer, or a flight o' steps leading up to the pillared portico 
o' a Grecian temple. 

{Enter Signor Ambrosio susurrans with it helow his arm.^ 

Shepherd. That's richt — O but Greeny has a gran' gurgle ! 
A mouthfu' o' Millbank never comes amiss. Oh ! but it's 
potent ! (gruing). I wuss it be na ile o' vitrol. 

JVorth. James, enlighten our weak minds. 

Shepherd. An English bagman, you see — he's unco fond o' 
poetry and the picturesque, a traveller in the soft line — ^paid 
me a visit the day just at denner-time, in a yellow gig, 

* Skites— skates. 1 Josepli Hume. 



His Bet with the Bagman. 263 

drawn by a chestnut blude meer ; and after we liad discussed 
the comparative merits o' my poems, and Lord Byron's, and 
Sir Walter's, he rather attributin to me, a' things considered, 
the superiority over baith, it's no impossible that my freen 
got rather fuddled a wee, for, after roosin his meer to the 
skies, as if she were fit for Castor himsel to ride upon up and 
doun the blue lift, frae less to mair he offered to trot her in 
the gig into Embro', against me on the best horse in a' my 
stable, and gie me a half-hour's start before puttin her into 
the shafts ; when, my birses being up, faith I challenged him, 
on the same condition, to rin him intil Embro' on shank's 
naigie.* 

North. What ! biped against quadruped ? 

Shepherd. Just. The cretur, as sune as he came to the 
clear understandin o' my meanin, gied ane o' these bit creenk- 
lin cackles o' a Cockney lauch, that can only be forgiven by 
a Christian when his soul is saften'd by the sunny hush o' a 
Sabbath morning. 

North. Forgotten, perhaps, James, but not forgiven. 

Shepherd. The batef was committed to black and white ; 
and then on wi' my skites, and awa like a reindeer. 

Tickler. What ? down the Yarrow to Selkirk — then up the 
Tweed. 

Shepherd. Na, na ! naething like keepin the high-road for 
safety in a skiting-match. There it was — noo stretchin 
straught afore me, noo serpenteezin like a great congor eel, 
and noo amaist coilin itself up like a sleepin adder ; but 
whether straught or crooked or circling, ayont a' imagina- 
tion sliddery, sliddery ! 

Tickler. Confound me — if I knew that we had frost. 

Shepherd. That comes o' trustin till a barometer to tell you 
when things hae come to the freezin-pint. Frost ! The ico 

* On shanJc's naigie — on foot. t Bate — bet. 



264 The Shepherd's Velocity. 

is fourteen feet thick in the Loch — and though you hae nae 
frost about Embro' like our frost in the Forest, yet I wadna 
advise you, Mr. Tickler, to put your tongue on the aim-rim 
o' a cart or cotch- wheel. 

North. I remember, James, being beguiled — sixty-four 
years ago !— by a pretty little, light-haired, blue-eyed lassie, 
one starry night of black frost, just to touch a cart-wheel for 
one moment with the tip of my tongue. 

Shepherd. What a gowmeril ! * 

North. And the bonny May had to run all the way to 
the manse for a jug of hot water to relieve me from that 
bondage. 

Shepherd. You had a gude excuse, sir, for geein the cutty 
a gude kissin. 

North. How fragments of one's past existence come sud- 
denly flashing back upon — 

Shepherd. Hoo I snooved alang the snaw ! Like a verra 
curlin-stane, when a dizzen besoms are soopin the ice afor't 
and the granite gangs groanin gloriously alang, as if in- 
stinct wi' spirit, and the water-kelpie below strives in vain 
to keep up wi' the straight-forrit planet, still accompanied 
as it spins wi' a sort o' spray, like the shiverin atoms of 
diamonds, and wi' a noise to which the hills far and near 
respond, like a water-quake — the verra ice itself seemin at 
times to sink and swell, just as ii the Loch were a great 
wide glitterin tin-plate, beaten out by that cunnin white- 
smith, Wunter — and — 

Tickler. And every mouth, in spite of frost, thaws to the 
thought of corned beef and greens. 

Shepherd. Hoo I snooved alang ! Some collies keepit 
geyan weel up wi' me as far's Traquair manse — but ere I 
crossed the Tweed my canine tail had drapped quite away, 

* Gotomeril — fool. 



Between the Loch and JEdinhurgh, 265 

and I had but the company of a couple of crows to 
Peebles. 

North. Did you dine on the road, James ? 

Shepherd. Didn't I tell you I had dined before I setoff? I 
ettled at a canker at Eddlestone — ^but in vain attempted to 
moderate my velocity as I neared the village, and had merely 
time to fling a look to my worthy friend the minister, as I 
flew by that tree-hidden manse and its rill-divided garden, 
beautiful alike in dew and in cranreuch ! 

Tickler. Helpless as Mazeppa ! 

Shepherd. It's far worse to be ridden aff wi' by ane's ain 
sowl than by the wildest o' the desert loon. 

North. At this moment, the soul seems running away with 
the body, — at that, the body is off with the soul. Spirit and 
matter are playing at fast and loose with each other — and at 
full speed you get skeptical as Spinoza. 

Shepherd. Sometimes the ruts are for miles thegither regular 
as railroads — and your skite gets fitted intil a groove, sae that 
you can hand out ane o' your legs like an opera dancer playin 
a peeryette, and on the ither glint by, to the astonishment o' 
toll-keepers, who at first suspect you to be on horseback — 
then that you may be a bird — and feenally that you must be 
a ghost. 

Tickler. Did you upset any carriages, James ? 

Shepherd. Nane that I recollect. I saw severals — but 
whether they were coming or going — in motion or at rest, it 
is not for me to say — but they, and the hills, and woods, and 
clouds, seemed a' to be floatin awa thegither in the direction 
o' the mountains at the head o' Clydesdale. 

Tickler. And where all this while was the bagman ? 

Shepherd. Wanderin, nae doubt, a' a-foam, leagues ahint ; 
for the chestnut meer was weel cauked, and she ance won a 
king's plate at Doncaster. You may hae seen, Mr. North, a 



266 Pulls up at the Pentlands, 

cloud-giaiit on a stormy flay striding alang the sky, coverina 
parish wi' ilka stretch o' his spawl,* and pausin, aiblins, to 
tak his breath now and then at the meetin o' twa counties ; 
if sae, you hae seen an image o' me — only he was in the 
heavens, and I on the yearth — he an unsubstantial phantom, 
and I twal stane wecht — he silent and sullen in his flight, I 
musical and merry in mine — 

Tickler. But on what principle came you to stop, James ? 

Shepherd. Luckily, the Pentland Hills came to my succor. 
By means of one of their ridges I got gradually rid of a por- 
tion of my velocity — subdued down into about seven miles an 
hour, which rate got gradually diminished to about four ; and 
here I am, gentlemen, after having made a narrow escape 
from a stumble, that in York Place threatened to set me off 
again down Leith Walk, in which case I must have gone on 
to Portobello or Musselburgh. 

North. Well, if I did not know you, my dear James, to be 
a matter-of-fact man, I should absolutely begin to entertain 
some doubts of your veracity. 

Shepherd. What the deevil's that hingin frae the roof ? 

North. Why, the chandelier. 

Shepherd. The shandleer ? It's a cage, wi' an outlandish 
bird in't. A pawrot, I declare ! Pretty Poll ! Pretty Poll 1 
Pretty Poll! 

Parrot. Go to the devil and shake yourself. 

Shepherd. Heaven preserve us ! — heard you ever the likeg 
o' that ? — ^A bird cursin ! What sort o' an education must 
the cretur hae had ? Poor beast, do you ken what you're 
sayin ? 

Parrot. Much cry and little wool, as the devil said wjteis 
he was shearin the Hog. 

Shepherd. You're gettin personal, sir, or madam, for i 
dinna pretend to ken your sex. 

* -S'pa it'/— shoulder. 



North's Familiars. 267 

North. Tbat everybody does, James, who has anything to 
do with Blackwood's Magazine. 

Shepherd. True enough, sir. If it wad but keep a gude 
tongue in its head — it's really a bonny cretur. What pium- 
mage ! What'ill you hae, Polly, for sooper ? 

Parrot. — 

Molly put the kettle on, 
Molly put the kettle on, 
Molly put the kettle on, 
And I shall have some punch. 

Shepherd That's fearsome — yet, whisht ! What ither vice 
was that speakin ? A gruJSE vice. There again! whisht! 
Voice. — 

The deTil he came to our town. 
And rode away wi' .the exciseman. 

Shepherd. This room's no canny. I'm aff (rising to go), 
Mercy me ! A raven hoppin aneath the sideboard ! Look at 
him, how he turns his great big broad head to the ae side, 
and keeps regardin me wi' an evil eye ! Satan I 

North. My familiar, James. 

Shepherd Whence cam he ? 

North. One gloomy night I heard him croakin in the 
garden. 

Shepherd You did wrang, sir, — it was rash to let him in ; 
wha ever heard o' a real raven in a surburban garden ? It's 
some demon pretendin to be a raven. Only look at him wi' 
the silver ladle in his bill. Noo he draps it, and is ruggin at 
the Turkey carpet, as if he were colleckin lining for his nest. 
Let alane the carpet, you ugly villain I 
Raven. The devil woulda wooin go — ho— ho I the wooin, ho ! * 

* Dickens' incomparable raven in Bamahy Budge would have been quite 
at home in this party ; and appears, indeed, to have taken a lesson iu house- 
hold economy from North's parrot. 



268 A Serenade ly " Sooty y 

Shepherd. Ay — ay — you hear how it is, gentleman — " 1_ ., 
is a' the theme *' — 

Raven. " To woo his bonny lassie when the kye c\ 
hame!" 

Shepherd. Satan sin^in ane o' my sangs ! Frae this \. 
I forswear poetry. 

Voice. — 

love — ^love— love, 

1 ovo's like a dizziness. 

Shepherd. What ! another voice ? 

Tickler. James — James — he's on your shoulder. 

Shepherd (starting up in great emotion). Wha's on my 
ghouther ? 

North. Only Matthew. 

Shepherd. Puir bit bonny burdie ! What ! you're a Stirling, 
are you ? Ay — ay — just pick and dab awa there at the hair 
in my lug. Yet I wad rather see you fleein and Hutterin in 
and out o' a bit hole aneath a wall-flower high up on some 
auld and ruined castle standin by itsel among the woods. 

Haven. — 

O loVe — love — love, 
Love's like a dizziness. 

Shepherd. Eax me ower the poker, Mr. North — or lend me 
your crutch, that I may brain Sooty. 
Starling' — 

It wunna let a puir bodie 
Gang about his bissiness. 

Parrot. Fie, whigs, awa — fie, whigs, awa. 
Shepherd. Na — the bird doesna want sense. 
Raven. — 

The dejl sat giruin in a iieuk, 
Kiving sticks to roast the Duke. 

Shepherd. Oh ho ! you are fond of picking up Jacobite relics. 



TJie Shepherd retires. 269 

tiaven. Ho ! blood — blood — ^blood— blood — blood ! 

Shepherd. What do you mean, you sinner ? 

Raven. Burke him — Burke him — Burke him. Ho— rho — • 
,,!^— blood — blood — blood ! 

Bronte. Bow — wow — wow. — Bow — wow— wow. — Bow — 
wow — wow. 

Shepherd. A complete aviary, Mr. North. Weel, that's a 
sight worth lookin at- Bronte lying on the rug — never per- 
ceivin that it's on the tap o' a worsted teegger— a raven, 
either real or pretended, amusin himsel wi' ruggin at the 
dowg's toosey tail — the pawrot, wha maun hae opened the 
door o' his cage himsel, sittin on Bronte's shouther — and the 
Stirling, Matthew, hidin himsel ahint his head — no less than 
four irrational creturs, as they are called, on the rug — each 
wi' a natur o' its ain ; and then again four rational creturs, 
as they are called, sittin round them on chairs — each wi' his 
specific character too — and the aught makin ane aggregate 
— or whole — of parts not unharmoniously combined. 

North. Why, James, there are but three of the rationals. 

Shepherd. I find I was countin mysel twice over. 

Tickler.- Now be persuaded, my dear Shepherd, before 
supper is brought ben, to take a warm bath, and then rig 
yourself out in your Sunday suit of black, which Mr. Ambrose 
keeps sweet for you in his own drawer, bestrewed with sprigs 
of thyme, whose scent fadeth not for a century. 

Shepherd. Faith, I think I shall tak a plouter. * 

[Shepherd retires into the marhle bath adjoining the Snug-" 
gery. The hot water is let on with a mighty noise. 

North. Do you want the flesh-brushes, James ? 
Sheplierd {from within). I wish I had some female slaves, 
wi' wooden swurds to scrape me wi', like the Shah o' Persia. 
Tickler. Are you in, James ? 

* Plouter — a batlie accompanied with spLisMng. 



270 ''Apollo in the Het Bath.'" 

Shepherd. Hearken ! — 
{A sullen plunge is heard, as of a huge stone into the deep-down 
waters of a draiv-well. 
North QooMng at his loatch). Two minutes liave elapsed. 
I hope, Tickler, nothing apoplectical has occurred. 
Shepherd. Blow — o — wo-^ho — wro ! 
Tickler. Why, James — 

" You are gurgling Italian half-way down your throat." 

North. What temperature, James ? 

Shepherd. Nearly up at egg-boiling. But you had better, 
sirs, be makin anither jug — for that ane was geyan sair dune 
afore I left you- — and I maun hae a glass of het-and-het as 
sune as I come out, to prevent me takin the cauld. I hope 
there's nae current o' air in the room. Wha's this that bled 
himsel to death in a bath ? Wasna't Seneca ? 

North. James, who is the best female poet of the age ? 
Shepherd. Female what ? 
Tickler. Poet. 

Shepherd. Hand your tongue, ye sinner. What ! you are 
for drawin a pictur o' me as Apollo in the het bath surrounded 
wi' the Muses ? That would be a fine subject for Etty. 

North. Isn't his " Judith and Holofernes," my dear Shep- 
herd, a noble, a majestic performance ? 

Shepherd. Yon's colorin ! Judith's richt leg's as flesh-like 
as my ain, noo lyin on the rim o' the bath, and maist as 
muscular. 

Tickler. -Not so hairy, though, James. 
Shepherd. I'm geyan weel sodden noo, and I think 1*11 
come out. Ring the bell, sir, for my black claes. 

North. I have been toasting your shirt, James, at the fire. 
— Will you come out for it ? 

Shepherd. Fling't in at the door. Thank you, sir. Ho ! ■ 
here's the claes, I declare, hingiu on the tenters. Is that 



The Sheplierd in Sables. 271 

sooper coming in ? Noo, I'm rubbed down — ae stockin on^ — 
anither — noo, the flannen drawers — and noo, the breeks. — 
Oh ! but that turkey has a gran' smell ! Mr. Awmrose, ma 
slippers ? Noo for't, 

(TJie Shephekd reappears in full sables^ blooming) 
like a rose) 
North. Come away, my dear Shepherd. Is he not, Tickler, 
like a black eagle that has renewed his youth ? 

\_They take tJieir seats at the Supper-fahl^. — Mulliga- 

taiony — Roasted Turkey — Fillet of Veal^-Soles — 

a Pie — and the Cold Round — -Potatoes — Oysters, 

S^c. ^"c. Sfc. Sj'c. Sfc. 

North. The turkey is not a large one, James, and after a 

thirty-six miles' run, I think you had better take it on your 

plate. 

Shepherd. Na, na, sir. ^ Just set the ashet afore me — tak 
you the fillet — gie Tickler the pie — and noo, let us hae some 
discourse about the fine airts. 

(Supper.^ 

Shepherd. In another month, sirs, the Forest will be as green 
as the summer sea rolling in its foam-crested waves in moon- 
light. You maun come out — you maun baith come out this 
spring. 

North. I will. Every breath of air we draw is terrestrial- 
ized or etherealized by imagination. Our suburban air, round 
about Edinburgh, especially down towards the sea, must be 
pure, James ; and yet, my fancy being haunted by these 
easterly haurs,* the finest atmosphere often seems to me afloat 
with the foulest atoms. My mouth is as a vortex, that en- 
gulfs all the stray wool and feathers in the vicinity. In the 
country, and nowhere more than on the Tweed or the Yar- 
row, I inhale always the gas of Paradise. I look about .me 

* Haur—a chill, foggy, ieasterly ■wind. 



272 The Dawn of Day. 

for flowers, and I see none — but I feel the breath of thousands. 
Country smoke from cottages or kihis, or burning heather, is 
not like town smoke. It ascends into clouds, on which angels 
and departed spirits may repose. 

Shepherd. 0' a' kintra soun's, which do you like best, sir ? 

North. The crowing of cocks before, at, and after sunrise. 
They are like clocks all set by the sun. Some hoarsely 
scrauching, James, — some with a long, clear, silver chime — 
and now and then a bit bantam crowing twice for the statelier 
chanticleer's once— and, by fancy's eye, seen strutting and 
sliding up, in his impudence, to hens of the largest size, not 
unaverse to the flirtation of the feathery-legged coxcomb. 

Shepherd. Few folk hae seen oftener than me Natur gettin 
up i' the mornin. It's no possible to help personifyin her 
first into a goddess, and then into a human — 

Tickler. There again, James. 

Shepherd. She sleeps a' nicht in her claes, yet they're never 
runkled ; her awakening face she turns up dewy to the sun, 
and Zephyr wipes it wi' his wing without disturbin its 
dreamy expression never see ye her hair in papers, for crisp - 
and curly, far-streamin, and wide-waven are her locks, as 
alternate shadows and sunbeams dancin on the dancin music 
o' some joyous river rollin awa to the far-aff sea ; her ee is 
heaven — ^her brow the marble clouds ; and after a lang doun- 
gazing, serene, and spiritual look o' hersel, breathin her 
orison-prayers, in the reflectin magic o' some loch like an 
inland ocean, stately steps she frae the east, and a' that meet 
her — mair especially the Poet, wha draps doun amid the 
heather in devotion on his knees — kens that she is indeed the 
Queen of the whole Universe. 

Tickler. Incedit Regina. 

North. Then, what a breakfast at Mount Benger, after a 
stroll to and fro' the Loch! One devours the most materia] 



" Galler Eggs and Caller ffaddies." 273 

breakfast spiritually ; and none of the ethereal particles are 
lost in such a meal. 

Shepherd. Ethereal particles ! What are they like ? 

North. Of the soul, James. Wordsworth says, in his own 
beautiful way, of a sparrow's nest : — 

** Look, five blue eggs are gleaming there ! 
Few visions have I seen more fair, 
Nor many prospects of delight 
. More touching than that simple sight ! " 

But five or six, or perhaps a dozen, white hen-eggs gleaming 
there — all on a most lovely, a most beautiful, a most glorious 
round white plate of crockery — is a sight even more simple 
and more touching still. 

Tickler. What a difference between caller eggs and caller 
baddies ! 

North. About the same as between a rural lassie stepping 
along the greensward, like a walking rose or lily endued 
with life by the touch of a fairy's wand, and a lodging-house 
Girrzzie laying down a baikie* fu' o' ashes at the mouth of a 
common stair. • 

Shepherd. North, you're a curious cretur. 

Tickler. You must excuse him — for he is gettin into his 
pleasant though somewhat prosy dotage. 

Shepherd. A' men begin to get into a kind o' dotage after 
five-and-twunty. They think theirsels wiser, but they're 
only stupider. The glory o' the heaven and earth has a' 
flown by ; there's something gane wrang wi' the machinery o' 
the peristrephic panorama, and it 'ill no gang roun', — nor 
is there ony great matter, for the colors hae faded on 
the canvas, and the spirit that pervaded the picture is 
dead. 

TicMer^ Poo, poo, James. You're haverin. 

* BaiJcie — a kind of scuttle for ashes. 



274 The Vision and Faculty Divine. 

North. Do you thiuk, my dear James, that there is lesi 
reliirion now than of old in Scotland ? 

Shepherd. I really canna say, sir. At times I think there 
is even less sunshine. . . . Ony new poets spurtin up, sir, 
amang us, like fresh daisies amang them that's withered ? 
Noo that the auld cocks are cowed, are the chickens beginning 
to flap their wings and craw ? 

Tickler. Most of them mere poultry, James. 

North. Not worth plucking. 

Shepherd. It's uncomprehensible, sir, to me altogether, 
what that something is that ae man only, aijiang many mUlion, 
has thatfnakes him poetical, while a' the lave remain to the 
day o' their death prosaic ? I defy you to put your finger on 
ae pint o' his mental character or constitution in which the 
secret lies — indeed, there's aften a sort o' stupidity about the 
cretur that maks you sorry for him, and he's very generally 
laucht at ; — yet there's a superiority in the strain o' his 
thochts and feelings that places him on a level by himsel 
aboon a' their heads ; he has intuitions o' the truth, which, 
depend on't, sir, does not lie at the bottom -of a well, but 
rather in the lift o' the understanding and the imagination — 
the twa hemispheres ; and knowledge, that seems to flee 
awa frae ither men the faster and the farther the mair eagerly 
it is pursued, aften comes o' its ain sweet accord, and lies 
doun at the poet's feet. 

North. Just so. The power of the soul is as the expression 
of the countenance — the one is strong in faculties, and the 
other beautiful in features, you cannot tell how — ^but so it is, 
and so it is felt to be ; and let those not thus endowed by 
nature either try to make souls or make faces, and they 
only become ridiculous, and laughing-stocks to the world. 
This is especially the case with poets, who must be made of 
finer clay. 



The Sorrows of the Poor, 275 

Tickler, Generally cracked — 
Shepherd. But transpawrent — 
Tickler. Yea, an urn o£ light. 

North. There is something most affecting in the natural 
sorrows of poor men, my dear Shepherd, as, after a few days' 
wrestling with affliction, they appear again at their usual 
work^melancholy, but not miserable. 

Shepherd. You ken a gude deal, sir, about the life and 
character o' the puir ; but then it's frae philosophical and 
poetical observation and sympathy — no frae art-and-part 
participation, like mine, in their merriment and their 
meesery. Folk in what they ca' the upper classes o' society 
a' look upon life, mair or less, as a scene o' enjoyment, 
and amusement, and delicht. They get a' selfish in their 
sensibilities, and would fain mak the verra laws o' natur 
obedient to their wull. Thus they cherish and encourage 
habits o' thocht and feeling that are maist averse to 
obedience and resignation to the decrees o' the Almighty 
— when these decrees dash in pieces small the idols o' their 
earthly worship. 

North. Too true, alas ! my dearest Shepherd. 

Shepherd. Pity me ! how they moan, and groan, and greet 
and wring their hauns, and tear their hair, even auld folk 
their thin grey hair, when death comes into the bed-room, or 
the verra drawing-room, and carries aff in his clutches some 
wee bit spoiled bairn, yaummerin * amang its playthings, or 
keepin its mither awake a'nicht by its perpetual cries ! 

North. Touch tenderly, James — on — 

Shepherd, Ane wad think that nae parents had ever lost a 
child afore — yet hoo mony a sma' funeral do you see ilka day 
pacin alang the streets unheeded on, amang the carts ant] 
hackney-coaches ? 

♦ Yaumvierin — fretting. 



270 Undemonstrative Sorrow. 

North. Unheeded, as a party of upholsterer's mea carrying 
furniture to a new house. 

Shepherd. There is little or naething o' this thochtless 
tliis senseless clamor in kintra-houses, when the cloud o' 
God's judgment passes ower them, and orders are gien for 
a grave to be dug in the kirkyard. A' the house is hushed 
and quate — ^just the same as if the patient were still sick, 
and no gane * awa— the father, and perhaps the mother, the 
brothers, and the sisters, are a' gaun about their ordinary 
business, wi' grave faces nae doubt, and some o' them now 
and then dichtin the draps frae their eeu ; but, after the 
first black day, little audible greetin, and nae indecent and 
impious outcries. 

North. The angler calling in at the cottage would never 
know that a corpse was the cause of the calm. 

Shepherd. Rich folk, if they saw sic doucCjt composed 
ongoings, wad doubtless wonder to think hoo callous, hoo 
insensible were the puir ! — that natur had kindly denied to 
them those line feelino^s that belono^ to cultivated life ! But 
if they heard the prayer o' the auld man at nicht, when the 
survlvin family were on their knees around the wa', and his 
puir wife neist him in the holy circle, they wad ken better, 
and confess that there is something as sublime as it is sin- 
cere and simple in the resignation and piety of those humble 
Christians, whose doom it is to live by the sweat o' their 
brow, and who are taught, almost frae the cradle to the 
grave, to feel every hour they breathe, that all they enjoy, 
and all they suffer, is dropt doun frae the hand o' God 
almost as visibly as the dew or the hail, — and hence their 
faith in things unseen and eternal is firm as their belief in 
things seen and temporal — and that they a' feel, sir, when 
lettin doun the cofiin into the grave ! 

* GrtHe— Gone. t i5o?<ce— sedate. 



The Monotony of Scottish Music. 211 

Nvrth, Scottish Music, mj dear James, is to me rather 
monotonous. 

SJtepherd. So is Scottish Poetry, sir. It has nae great 
r.nigy ; but human natur never wearies o' its ain prime 
eJementary feelings. A man may sit a haill nicht by his 
iiigle, wi' his wife and bairns, without either thinkin or feelin 
muckle ; and yet he's perfectly happy till bed-time, and says 
his prayers wi' fervent gratitude to the Giver o' a' mercies. 
It's only whan he's beginnin to tire o' the hummin o' the 
wheel, or o' his wife flytin at the weans, or o' the weans 
upsettin the stools, or ruggin ane anither's hair, that his 
fancy takes a very poetical flight into the regions o' the 
Imagination. Sae lang's the heart sleeps amang its affec- 
tions, it d walls upon few images ; but these images may be 
infinitely varied ; and when expressed in words, the variety 
will be felt. Sae that, after a', it's scarcely correct to ca' 
Scottish Poetry monotonous, or Scottish Music either, ouy 
mair than you would ca' a kintra level, in bonny gentle ups 
and downs, or a sky dull, though the clouds were neither 
mony nor multiform ; a' depends upon the spirit. Twa-three 
notes may mak a maist beautifu' tune, twa-three woody 
knowes a bonny landscape ; and there are some bit sireams 
amang the hills, without ony striking or very peculiar 
scenery, that it's no possible to dauner along at gloamiu 
without feelin them to be visionary, as if they flowed 
through a land o' glamour. 

North. James, I wish you would review for Maga all those 
fashionable Novels — Novels of High Life ; such as Pclham — 
the Disowned — 

Shepherd. I've read thae twa, and they're baith gude. But 
the mair I think on't, the profounder is my conviction that 
the strength o' human nature lies either in the highest or 
lowest estate of life. 



278 NortJhS very Nose 

Tickler. Is this Tay or Tweed salmon, James ? 

Shepherd. Taj, to be sure — it has the Perthshire accent, 
very pallateable. But, to speak plain, they may baith gang 
to the deevil for me, without excitin ony mair emotion in my 
mind than you are doin the noo, Tickler, by puttin a bit o' 
cheese on your forefinger, and then, by a sharp smack on the 
palm, makiu the mites spang into your mouth. 

Tickler. I was doing no such thing, Hogg. 

Shepherd. North, wasna he ?— Puir auld useless body ! he's 
asleep. Age will tell. He caiina staun* a heavy sooper noo 
as he used to do — the toddy teUs noo a hantle faster f upon 
him, and the verra fire itself drowzifies him noo intil a 
dwawm — na, even the sound o' ane's vice, lang continued, 
lulls him noo half or haill asleep, especially if your talk 
like mine demands thocht — and there indeed, you see, Mr. 
Tickler, how his chin fa's donn on his breast, till he seems — 
but for a slight snore — the image o' death. Heaven preserve 
us — only listen to that ! Did ye ever hear the like o' that ? 
What is't ? Is't a musical snuff-box ? or what is't ? Has he 
gotten a wee fairy musical snufE-box, I ask you, Mr. Tickler, 
within the nose o' him ? or what or wha is't that's playin 
that tune ? 

Tickler. It is indeed equally beautiful and mysterious. 

Shepherd. I never heard " Auld Langsyne " played mair 
exactly in a' my life. 

Tickler " List — O list ! if ever thou didst thy dear father 
love J" 

Shepherd {going up on tip-toes to Mr. North, and putting his 
ear close to the gentleman's nose). By all that's miraculous, 
he is snoring " Auld Langsyne ! " The Eolian harp's naething 
to that — it canna play a regular tune — but there's no a sweeter, 
eafter, mair pathetic wund instrument in being than his nose. 

* 5faTt« —staud. t A hantle f aster— & good deal faster. 



Has Music in it. 279 

Tickler. I have often heard him, James, snore a few notes 
very sweetly, but never before a complete tune. With what 
powers the soul is endowed in dreams ! 

Shepherd. You may weel say that. — Harkee ! he's snorin't 
wi' variations ! I'm no a Christian if he hasna gotten into 
^' Maggie Lauder." He's snorin a medley in his sleep ! 

[Tickler and the Shepherd listen entranced. 

Tickler. What a spirit-stirring snore is his " Erin-go- 
bragh ! " 

Shepherd, A' this is proof o' the immortality o' the sowl. 
Whisht — whisht ! [North snores " God save the King." 
Ay — a loyal pawtriot even in the kingdom o' dreams ! I wad 
rather hear that than Catalan in the King's Anthem. We 
maun never mention this, Mr, Tickler. The warld 'ill no 
belie ve't. The warld' s no ripe yet for the belief o' sic a 
mystery. 

Tickler. His nose, James, I think, is getting a little hoarse. 

Shepherd. Less o' the tenor andmair o' the bass. He was 
a wee outo' tune there — andlsuspeck his nose wants blawiu. 
Hear till him noo — " Croppies, lie doun," I declare ; and see 
how he is clutchin the crutch. 

[North awakes, and /or a moment like goshawk stares wild. 

North. Yes — I agree with you — there must be a dissolution. 

Shepherd. A dissolution ! 

North. Yes — of Parliament. Let us have the sense of tlie 
people. I am an old Whig — a Whig of the 1688. 

Tickler and Shepherd. Hurra w, hurraw, hurraw I Old North, 
old Eldon, and old Colchester for ever ! Hurraw, hurraw, 
hurraw ! 

North. No. Old Eldon alone ! Give me the Dolphin. No. 
The Ivy-Tower. No need of a glass. Let us, one after the 
other, put the Ivy-Tower to- our mouth, and drink him in 
pure Glenlivet. 



280 '' Old Eldon!'' 

Shepherd. Oh the table ! 
[TVie Shepherd and Tickler offer to help North to mouni 
the table. 
North. Hands off, gentlemen ! I scorn assistance. Look 
here ! 

[North, hy a dexterous movement^ swings himself off his 
crutch erect on the table, and gives a helping hand first 
.to the Shepherd and then to Tickler. 

Shepherd. That feat beats the snorin a' to sticks ! Faith, 
Tickler, we maun sing sma'. In a' things he's our maister. 
Alloo me, sir, to gang doun for your chair ? 

North (Jiinging his crutch to the roof). — Old Eldox ! 

[^Tremendous cheering amidst the breakage by the descending 
crutch. 

Bronte. Bow, wow, wow — wow, wow — wow, wow, wow. 

{Enter Picardy and Tail in general consternation.) 
Shepherd. Luk at him noo, Picardy — luk at him noo ! 
Tickler. Firm on his pins as a pillar of the Parthenon ! 
Shepherd. Saw ye ever a pair o' strauchter, mair sinewy 
legs, noo that he leans the haill wecht o' his body on them ? 
Ay, wi' that outstretched arm he stauns like a statute o 
Demosthenes, about to utter the first word o' ane o' his 
Philippics. 

[Bronte leaps on the table, and stands by North's knee 
with a determined aspect. 
North. Take the time from Bronte — Old Colchester ! 
Bronte, Bow, wow — wow, wow — wow, wow, wow. 

\_Loud acclamation!^. 

Shepherd. Come, let's dance a threesome reel. 
North. Picardy — your fiddle. 

[Mr. Ambrose takes " Neil Gow^^ from the peg^ and plays. 
Shepherd. Hadna we better clear decks — 
North. No — James. In my youth I could dance the 



A Threesome Reel. 281 

ancient German sword-dance, as described by Tacitus. Sir 
David, remove the Dolphin. I care not a jot for the rest of 
the crystal. 

[North, Tickler, and the Shepherd thrid a threesome 

reel — Bronte careering round the table in a Solo — 

Picardy's bow-hand in high condition. 

Shepherd. Set to me, sir, set to me — never mind Tickler. 

Oh! but you're matchless at the Heelan fling, sir! — Luk at 

him, Mr. Awmrose! 

Ambrose. Yes, Mr. Hogg. 

Shepherd. I'll match him against a' the Heelans — either m 
breeks or out o' them — luk, luk — see him cuttin ! 

[Mr. North motions to Picardy, who stops playing, and 

with one bound leaps from the centre of the circular over 

the Ivy-Tower to the floor. Shepherd and Tickler, in 

attempting to imitate the great original, fall on the floor ^ 

but recover their feet with considerable alacrity. 

North (resuming his chair). The Catholic Question is not 

carried yet, gentlemen. Should it be, let it be ours to defend 

the Constitution. 

Shepherd. Speak awa, sir, till I recover my breath. I'm 
sair blawn. Hear Tickler's bellows. 

Tickler (stretching his weary length on a sofa). Whew— 
whew — whew. \Exit Picardy with his Tail. 



XIX. 

IN WHICH, AFTER SETTLING OTHELLO, NORTH 
FLOORS THE SHEPHERD. 

Scene I. — The Snuggery. Time, — Eight o^ clock. The Union 
Table, with Tea and Coffee Pots, and the CDoherty China-set 

I — Cold Round — Pies — Oysters — Rizzards — Pickled Salmon, 
S^c, Sfc, S^c. A How-toiodie lohirling before the fire over a 
large basin of mashed Potatoes. The Boiler on. A Bachelor^ s 
Kitchen on the small Oval. A Dumb Waiter at each end of the 
Union. 

North and Shepherd. 

Shepherd. This I ca' comfort, sir. Everything within 
oursel — nae need to ring a bell the leeve-lang night — nae 
openin o' cheepin, nae shuttin o' clashin doors — nae trampin 
o' waiters across the carpet wi' creakin shoon — or stumblin, 
clumsy coofs, to the great spillin o' gravy — but a' things, 
eatable and uneatable, either hushed into a cozy calm, 
or — 

North. Now light, James, the lamp of the Bachelor's 
Kitchen with Tickler's card, and in a quarter of an hour, 
minus five minutes, you shall scent and see such steaks ! 

Shepherd. Only look at the towdie,* sir, how she swings sae 
granly roun' by my garters, after the fashion o' a planet. It's 

* Toiod'iP. or hni/'-to'iuli,'— \ hain-dcior fowl. 
28? 



The Doric Tongue. 283 

a beautiful example o' centrifugal attraction. See till the fat 
dreep-dreepin intil the ashet o' mashed potawtoes, oilifying 
the crusted brown intil a mair delicious richness o' mixed 
vegetable and animal maitter ! As she swings slowly twirlin 
roun', I really canna say, sir, for I dinna ken, whether baney 
back or fleshy breist be the maist temptin ! Sappy baith ! 

North. Right, James — baste her — baste her — don't spare 
the flour. Nothing tells like the dredge-box. 

Shepherd. You're a capital man-cook, sir. Let's pree't. 

[Shepherd tastes. 

North. Ay — I could have told you so. Rash man, to 
swallow liquid and solid fire ! But no more spluttering. 
Cool your tongue with a caulker. 

Shepherd. That lamp's no canny. It intensifies hetness 
intil an atrocity aboon natur. Is the skin flyped a£f my 
tongue, sir? [Shepherd shows tongue. 

North. Let me put on my spectacles. A slight incipient 
iiiflammation, not worth mentioning. 

Shepherd. I howp an incipient inflammation's no a dangerous 
sort ? 

North. Is that indeed the tongue, my dear James, that 
trills so sweetly and so simply those wild Doric strains ? 
How deeply, darkly, beautifully red ! Just like a rag of 
scarlet. No scurf — say rather no haze around the lambent 
light. A rod of fire — an arrow of flame. A tongue of ten 
thousand, prophesying an eagle or raven life. 

Shepherd. I aye like, sir, to keep a gude tongue in my head, 
over since I wrote the Chaldee Mannyscripp. 

North. Humph ! — No more infallible mark of a man of 
genius, James, than the shape of his tongue. It is uniformly 
long, so that he can shoot it out, with an easy grace, to the 
tip of his nose. 

Sliepherd. This way ? 



284 ''Are we Twa G-luttonsf" 

North. Precisely so. Fine all round the edge, from root to 
tip — underneath very veinous — surface in color near as may 
be to that of a crimson curtain shining in setting sunlight. 
But the tip — James — the tip — 

Shepherd. Like that o' the serpent's that deceived Eve, sir 
— curlin up and doun like the musical leaf o' some magical 
tree — 

North, It is a singular fact with regard to the tongue, that 
if you cut off the half of it, the proprietor of the contingent 
remainder can only mumble — ^but cut it off vrhoUy, and he 
speaks fully better than before — 

Shepherd. That's a hanged lee. 

North. As true a wor4 as ever I spoke, James. 

Shepherd. Perhaps it may, sir, but it's a hanged lee, never- 
theless. 

North. Dish . the steaks, my dear James, and I shall cut 
down the how-towdie. 

[North and the Shepherd furnish up the Ambrosial 
tables, and sit doum to serious devouring. 

North, Now, James, acknowledge it — don't you admire a 
miscellaneous meal? 

Shepherd. I do. Breakfast, noony,"* denner, four-hours,t 
and sooper, a' in ane. A material emblem o' that spiritual 
substance, Blackwood's Magazine! Can it possibly be, sir, 
that we are twa gluttons ? 

North. Gluttons we most assuredly are not ; but each of 
us is a man of good appetite. What is gluttony ? 

Shepherd. Some mair stakes, sir ? 

North. Yevj few, my dear James, very few. 

Shepherd. What's gluttony ? 

North» Some eggs ? 

Shepherd. Ae spoonfu'. What a layer she wad hae been ! 

* Xoony — luucheon. t Fmir-hcntrs—tea. 



North's Palate. 285 

Oh but she's a prolific cretur, Mr. North, your how-towdie ! 
It's necessary to kill heaps o' yearocks,"* or the haill kintra 
wad be a-cackle frae Johu o' Groat's House to St. Michael's 
Mount. 

North, Sometimes I eat merely as an amusement or pastime 
tr-sometimes for recreation of my animal spirits — sometimes 
on the philosophical principle of sustenance — sometimes for 
the mere sensual, but scarcely sinful, pleasure of eating, or, 
in common language, gormandizing — and occasionally, once 
a month or so, for all these several purposes united, as at this 
present blessed moment ; so a few flakes, my dear Shepherd, 
of that "Westmoreland ham — ^lay the knife on it, and its own 
weight will sink it down through the soft, sweet sappiness 
of fat and lean, undistinguishably blended as the colors 
of the rainbow, and out of all sight incomparably more 
beautiful. 

Shepherd. As for me, I care nae mair about what I eat 
than I do what kind o' bed I sleep upon, sir. I hate onything 
stinkin or mooldy at board — or onything damp or musty in 
bed. But let the vivres be but fresh and wholesome — and if 
it's but scones and milk, I shut my een, say a grace, fa' to, 
and am thankful' ; — ^let the bed be dry, and whether saft "or 
hard, feathers, hair, cauff, straw, or heather, I'm fast in ten 
minutes, and my sowl waverin awa like a butterflee intil the 
land o' dreams. 

North. Not a more abstemious man than old Kit North in 
liis Majesty's dominions, on which the sun never sets. I 
have the most accommodating of palates. 

Shepherd. Yes — it's an uaiversal genius. I ken naething 
like it, sir, but your stammack. — " Sure such a pair were 
never seen ! " Had ye never the colic ? 

North. Never, James, never. I confess that I have been 

* Tcarocls — cliickens. 



286 Definition of G-lutto7iy. 

guilty of many crimes, but never of a capital crime, — ^never 
of colic. 

Shepherd. There's muckle confusion o' ideas in the brains 
o' the blockheads who accuse us o' gluttony, Mr. North. 
Gluttony may be defined " an immoral and unintellectual 
abandonment o' the sowl o' man to his gustative natur." \ 
defy a brute animal to be a glutton. A swine's no a glutton. 
Nae cretur but man can be a glutton. A' the rest are pre- 
vented by the definition. 

North. Sensuality is the most shocking of all sins, and its 
name is Legion. 

Shepherd. Ay, there may be as muckle gluttony on sowens 
as on turtle-soup. A plougbman may be as greedy and as 
gutsy as an alderman. The sin lies not in the sense, but 
in the sowl. Sir — a red herring? 

North. Thank ye, James. 

Shepherd. Are you drinkin coffee ? — Let me toast you a 
shave o' bread, and butter it for you on baith sides, sir ? 

\_Tlie Sfiepherd ^'7?eeZs on the Tiger, and stretches out .the 
Trident to Vulcan. 

North. There has been much planting of trees lately in the 
Forest, James ? 

Shepherd. To my taste, to tell the truth, rather ower muckle 
-—especially o' nurses.* 

North. Nurses ! — wet or dry nurses, James ? 

Shepherd. Baith. Larches and Scotch firs ; or you .can ca' 
them schoolmasters, that teach the young idea how to shoot. 
But thinnins in the Forest never can pay, I suspeck ; and 
except on bleeky knowes, the hardwood wad grow better, in 
my opinion, left to themsels, without either nurses or school- 
masters. The nurses are apt to overlay their wean^, and the 

* Trees of the hardier breed, put in at intervals to shelter the more 

tender plants as they grow. 



EUrick Forest of Old. 287 

schoolmasters to forget, or,. what's waur, to flog their pupils ; 
and thus the rising is a stunted generation. 

North. Forty-five years ago, my dear James, when you 
were too young to remember much, I lovjed the Forest for its 
solitary single trees, ancient yew or sycamore, black in the 
distance, but when near how gloriously green ! Tall, deli- 
cately-feathered ash, whose limbs were still visible in latest 
'summer's leafiness — birch, in early spring, weeping and whis- 
pering in its pensive happiness by the perpetual din of its own 
waterfall — oak, yellow in the suns of June — 

Shepherd. — 

'* The grace of forest charms decayed, 
And pastoral melancholy ! " 

North. What lovely lines ! Who writes like Wordsworth ? 

Shepherd. Tuts ! Me ower young to remember muckle 
fourty-five years ago ! You're speakin havers. I was then 
twal — and I remember everything I ever heard or saw sin' I 
was three year auld. I recolleck the mornin I was pitten 
intil breeks as distinckly as if it were this verra day. 

North. All linnets have died, James — that race of loveliest 
lilters is extinct. 

Shepherd. No thae. Broom and bracken are tenanted by 
the glad, meek creturs still, — but the chords o' music in our 
hearts are sair unstrung — the harp o' our heart has lost its 
melody. But come out to the Forest, my dear, my honored 
sir, and fear not then, when we twa are walking thegither 
without speakin among the hills, you 

'* "Will feel the airs that from them blow, 
A momentary bliss bestow; " 

and the wild, uncertain, waverin music o' the Eolian harp, 
that natur plays upon in the solitude, will again echo far, far 
awa amang the recesses o' your heart, and the lintie will sing 
as sweetly as ever frae amang the blossoms o' the milk-whU« 



288 " You tuash.that I was dead!"" 

thorn. Or if you canna be brocht to feel sae, you'll hae but 
to look in my wee Jamie's face, and his glistening een will 
convince you that Scotia's nightingale still singeth as sweetly 
as of yore ! — But let us sit in to tlie iire, sir. 

North. Thank you, Shepherd — thank you, James. 

Shepherd (wheeling his father^ s chair to the ingle corner, and 
singing the while') — 

" Thebe's Ghkistopher North that ■woi^s in yox gleit, 
He's the ki:ng o' qude fallows, and wale * o' aitld men! " 

North. James, I will trouble you for the red herrings. 

Shepherd. There. Mr. North, I coud write twimty vol- 
lumms about the weather. Wad they sell ? 

North. I fear they might be deficient in incident. 

Shepherd. Naething I write's ever deficient in incident. 
Between us three, what think ye o' my Shepherd^ s Calendar ? 

North. Admirable, my dear James — admirable. To tell 
you the truth, I never read it in the Magazine ; but I was 
told the papers were universally liked there — and now, as 
Vols., they are beyond — above — all praise. 

Shepherd. But wull you say that in black and white in the 
Magazine ? What's the u>e o' rousin a body to their face, 
and abusin them ahint their backs ? Setting them upon a 
pedestal in private, and in public layin them a' their length 
on the floor ? You're jealous o' me, sir, that's the real truth, 
— and you wush that I was dead. 

North. Pardon me, James, I merely wish that you never 
had been born. 

Shepherd. That's far mair wicked. Oh ! but jealousy and 
envy's twa delusive passions, and they pu' you donn frae your 
aerial altitude, sir, like twa ravens ruggin an eagle frae the 
sky. 

North. From literary jealousy, James, even of you, my 

• Wale — beist. 



Shakespeare' s Othello. 289 

soul is free as the stone-shaded well in your garden from the 
ditch-water that flows around it on a rainj day. I but flirt 
with the Muses, and when they are faithless, I whistle the 
haggards down the wind, and puff all care away with a cigar. 
But I have felt the jealousy, James, and of all passions it 
alone springs from seed wafted into the human heart froiiL 
the Upas Tree of Hell. 

Shepherd. Wheesht 1 Wheesht ! 

North. Shakespeare has but feebly painted that passion in 
Othello. A complete failure. I never was married, that I 
recollect — neither am I a black man — therefore I do not pre- 
tend to be a judge of Othello's conduct and character. But, 
in the first place, Shakespeare ought to have been above 
taking an anomalous case of jealousy. How could a black 
husband escape being jealous of a white wife ? There Tvas a 
cause of jealousy given in his very face. 

Shepherd. Eh? What? What? Eh? Faith there's some- 
thing in that observation. 

North. Besides, had Desdemona lived, she would have pro- 
duced a mulatto. Could she have seen their " visages in their 
minds ? " Othello and she going to church with a brood of 
tawnies 

Shepherd. I dinna like to hear you speakin that way. 
Dinna profane poetry. 

North. Let not poetry profane nature. I am serious, James. 
That which in real life would be fulsome, cannot breathe 
sweetly in fiction ; for fiction is still a reflection of truth, and 
truth is sacred. 

Shepherd. I agree wi' you sae far, that the Passion o' Jeal- 
ousy in Luve can only be painted wi' perfect natur in a man 
that stands towards a woman in a perfectly natural relation. 
Otherwise the picture may be well painted, but it is still but 
a picture of a particular and singular exhihitioii o' llie passion 



290 Othello is an Anomaly^ 

— in short, as you say, o' an anomaly. I like a word I dinna 
weel understan'. 

North. Mr. Wordsworth calls Desdemona " the gentle lady 
married to the Moor," and the line has been often quoted 
and admired. It simply asserts two facts, — that she was a 
gentle lady, and that she was married to the Moor.* What 
then ? 

Shepherd. I forgie her — I pity her — but I can wi' difficulty 
respeck her — I confess. It was a curious kind o' hankerin 
after an opposite color. 

North. Change the character and condition of the parties 
—can you imagine a white hero falling in love with a black 
heroine in a country where there were plenty of white women ? 
Marrying and murdering her in an agony of rage and love ? 

Shepherd. I can only answer for mysel — I never could bring 
mysel to marry a Blackamoor. 

North. Yet they are often sweet, gentle, affectionate, meek, 
mild, humble, and devoted creatures — Desdemonas. 

Shepherd. But men and women, sir, I verily believe, are 
different in mony things respecting the passion o' luve. I've 
kent bonny, young, bloomin lassies fa' in luve wi' auld, 
wizened, disgustin fallows, — I hae indeed, sir. It was their 
fancy. But I never heard tell o' a young, handsome, healthy 
chiel gettin impassioned on an auld, wrunkled, skranky hag, 
without a tocher. Now, sir, Othello was — 

North. Well — well — let it pass — 

Shepherd. Ay — that's the way o' you — the instant you 
begin to see the argument gaun against you, you turn the 
conversation, either by main force, or by a quirk or a sophism, 
and sae escape frae the net that was about to be flung ower 
you, and like a bird, awa up into the air — or invisible owei 
the edge of the horizon. 

North. Well, then, James, what say you to lago ? 



Ayid Tago is unintelligible. 291 

Shepherd. What about him ? 

North. Is his character in nature ? 

Shepherd. I dinna ken. But what for no ? 

North. Wliat was his motive ? Pure love of mischief ? 

Shepherd. Aiblins.^ 

North. Pride in power and in skill to work mischief ? 

Shepherd. Aiblins. 

North. Did he hate the Moor even to the death ? 

Shepherd. Aiblins. 

North. Did he resolve to work his ruin, let the consequences 
to himself be what they might ? 

Shepherd. It would seem sae. * 

North. Did he know that his own ruin — his own death — 
mu-st follow the success of this scheme ? 

Shepherd. Hoo can I tell that ? 

North. Was he blinded utterly to such result by his wicked- 
ness directed against Othello ? 

Shepherd. Perhaps he was. Hoo can I tell ? 

North. Or did he foresee his own doom — and still go on 
unappalled ? 

Shepherd. It micht be sae, for ony thing I ken to the con- 
trary. He was ower cool and calculatin to be blinded. 

North. Is he, then, an intelligible or an unintelligible 
character? 

Shepherd. An unintelligible. 

North. Therefore not a natural character. I say, James, 
that his conduct from first to last cannot be accounted for by 
any view that can be taken of his character. The whole is a 
riddle — of which Shakespeare has not given the solution. 
Now, all human nature is full of riddles ; but it is the busi- 
ness of dramatic poets to solve them — and this one Shake- 
speare has left unsolved. But having himself proposed it, 

* JiftMns—perhaps. 



292 The Neivspapers arrive, 

he was bound either to have solved it, or to have set such a 
riddle as the wit of man could have solved in two centuries. 
Therefore 

Shepherd. " Othello " is a bad play ? 

North. Not bad, but not good — that is, not greatly good — 
not in the first order of harmonious and mysterious creations 
— not a work worthy of Shakespeare. 

Shepherd. Confound me if I can tell whether you're speakin 
sense or nonsense — truth or havers ; or whether yon be 
serious, or only playin aff upon me some o' your Mephisto. 
philes tricks. I af ten think you're an evil speerit in disguise, 
and that your greatest delight is in confounding truth and 
falsehood . . . Wheesht ! I hear a rustlin in the letter-box. 

North. John will have brought up my newspapers from the 
Lodge, expecting that I am not to be at home to dinner. 

Shepherd. Denner ! it's near the dawin ! 

\_The Shepherd opens the letter-box in the door, and lays 
down nearly a dozen newspapers on the table. 

North. Ay, there they are, the Herald^ the Morning Post, 
the Morning Journal, the Courier, the Globe, the Standard, and 
" the Rest." Let me take a look into the Standard, as able, 
argumentat've, and eloquent a paper as ever supported civil 
and religious liberty — that is. Protestantism in Church and 
State. — No disparagement to its staunch brother, the Morning 
Journal, or its excellent cousin, the Morning Past. Two 
strong, steady, well-bred wheelers — and a Leader that shows 
blood at all points — and covers his ground like the Pheno- 
menon. — No superior set-out to an — Unicorn. 

[North unfolds the Standard. 

Shepherd. I never read prent after twal. And as for news- 
papers, I carena if they should be a month auld. It's pitifu' 
to see some folk — nae fules neither — unhappy if their paper 
misses comin ony nicht by the post. For my ain pairt, I like 



North becomes oblivious. 293 

best to receive a great heap o' them a' at ance in a parshel by 
the carrier. Ony news, North ? 

Mrfh. Eh? 

Shepherd. Ony news ? Are you deaf ? or only absent? 

JVmih. Eh? 

Shepherd. There's mainners — the mainners o' a gentleman 
— o' the auld schule too. — Ony news ? 

North. Hem — hem * — 

Shepherd. His mind's weaken'd. Millions o' reasonable 
creatures at this hour perhaps — na — no at this hour — but a' 
this evenin — readin newspapers ! And that's the philosophy 
o' human life ! London sendin out, as frae a great reservoir, 
rivers o' reports, spates o' speculations, to inundate, to droon 
to deluge the haill island ! I hear the torrents roarin, but the 
soun' fa's on my ear without stunnin my heart. There comes 
a drought, and they are a' dry. Catholic Emancipation ! 
Stern shades of the old Covenanters, methinks I hear your 
voices on the moors and the mountains ! But weep not, wail 
not— though a black cloud seems to be hanging over all the 
land ! Still will the daisy, " wee modest crimson-tipped 
flower," bloom sweetly on the greensward that of yore was 
reddened wi' your patriot, your martyr blood. Still will the 
foxglove, as the silent ground-bee bends doun the lovely 
hanging bells, shake the pure tears of heaven over your hal- 
lowed graves ! Though annual fires run along the bonny 
bloomin heather, yet the shepherds ne'er miss the balm and 
brightness still left at mornin to meet them on the solitary 
hills. The sound of Psalms rises not now, as they sublimely 
did in those troubled times, from a tabernacle not built with 
hands, whose side- walls were the rocks and cliffs, its floor 
the spacious sward, and its roof the eternal heavens. But 

■* It was Professor Wilson's habit, when great events were astir, to be 
much absorned in the newspaper he happened to be reading. 



294 Unable to obtain a Rearing, 

from beneath many a lowly roof of house, and hnt, and 
hovel, and shielin, and sylvan cosy bield, ascend the humble 
holy orisons of poor and happy men, who, when comes the 
hour of sickness or of death, desire no other pillow for their 
swimming brain than that Bible, which to them is the Book 
of everlasting life, even as the Sun is the Orb of the transi- 
tory day. And to maintain that faith is now, alas ! bigotry 
and superstition ! — But where am I ? In the silence I thocht 
it was the Sabbath — and that I was in the Forest. High 
thochts and pure feelings can never come amiss — either in 
place or in time. Folk that hae been prayin in a kirk may 
lauch, withouten blame, when they hae left the kirkyard 
Silly thochts maun never be allowed to steal in amang sacred 
anes — ^but there never can be any harm in sacred thochts 
stealing in amang silly anes. A bit bird singin by itsel in 
the wilderness has sometimes made me amaist greet,"* in a 
mysterious melancholy that seemed wafted towards me on 
the solitary strain, frae regions ayont • the grave. But it 
flitted awa into silence, and in twa or three minutes I was 
singin ane o' my ain cheerful — nay, funny sangs. — Mr. North, 
I say, will ye never hae dune readin at that Stannard ? It's 
a capital paper — I ken that — nane better — na, nane sae 
gude, for it's faithful and fearless, and cuts like a twa- 
handed twa-edged swurd. Mr. North, I say, I'll begin to get 
real angry if you'll no speak. man ! but that's desperate 
bad mainners to keep glowering like a gawpus on a news- 
paper, at what was meant to be a crick-crack atween twa 
auld freens. Fling't doun. I'm sayin, sir, fling't doun. Oh 
but you're ugly the noo — and what's waur, there's nae 
meanin in your face. You're a puir, auld, ugly, stupid, 
vulgar, disagreeable, and dishonest-looking fallow, and a'm 
baith sorry and ashamed that I sud be sittin in sic company. 

* Greet — weep. 



Ilogg insults North. 295 

Fling doun the Stannard — if you dinna, it 'ill be waur for 
yott, for you've raised my corruption. Flesh and bluid can 
bear this treatment nae langer. I'll gie just ae mair warnin. 
Fling doun the Stannard. Na, you wunna — won't you ? 
Weel, tak that. 

\_The Shepherd throws a glass of toddy in Mr. North's 
face. 

North. Ha ! What the deuce is that ? My cup has jumped 
out of my hand and spurted the Glenlivet-coffee into its 
master's countenance. James, lend me your pocket-hand- 
kerchief. \_Relapses into the Standard. 

Shepherd. Fling doun the Stannard — or I'll gang mad. 
Neist time I'll shy the jug at him — for if it's impossible to 
insult, it may perhaps be possible to kill him. Fling doun 
the Stannard. You maddenin auld sinner, you wad be cheap 
o' death ! Yet I maunna kill him — I maunna kill him — for 
1 micht be hanged. 

North. Nobly said, Sadler ^ — nobly said ! I have long 
known your great talents, and your great eloquence too, 
but I hardly hoped for such a display of both as this. — Hear ! 
— hear ! — hear ! — There — my trusty fere — you have indeed 
clapped the saddle on the right horse. 

Shepherd. Tak that. 

[^Flings another glass of toddy in Mr. North's face. 

North, {starting up), Fire and fury ! 

Shepherd. Butter and brimstone ! How daured you to treat 
me — 

North. This outrage must not pass unpunished. Hogg, I 
shall give you a sound thrashing. 

* Michael Thomas Sadler, M. P., 1829, for Newark-upon-Trent, was born 
in 1780, and died in 1835- The amelioration of the condition of the factory 
children of England, and of the Irish poor, was due very much to his exer- 
tions. His principal works were— Ireland, its Evils and their Remedies,— 
and The Law of Population, written in opposition to Malthus. 



296 North demands Satisfaction^ 

£Mr. North advances toward the Shepherd in an offensive 
attitude. The Shepherd seizes the poJcer in one hand, 
and a chair in the other. 

Shepherd. Haud aff, sir, — liaud aff — or I'll brain you. 
Dinna pick a quarrel wi'me. I've dune a' I could to prevent 
it ; but the provocation I received was past a' endurance. 
Haud aff, sir, — haud aff. 

North, Coward ! coward ! coward ! 

Shepherd. Flyte * awa, sir — flyte awa ; — but haud aff, or 
I'll fell you. 

North (resuming his seat). I am unwilling to hurt you, 
James, on account of those at Mount Benger ; but lay down 
the poker — and lay down the chair. 

Shepherd. Na — na — na. Unless you first swear on the 
Bible that you'll tak nae unfair advantage. 

North. Let my word suffice — I won't. Now go to that 
press — and you will see a pair of gloves. Bring them to 
me — ^ \^ The SuEFS^m) fetches the gloves. 

Shepherd. Ca' you thae gloves ? 

North, (stripping and putting on the gloves'). Now, sir, use 
your fists as you best may — and in five minutes I shall take 
tbe conceit out of you — 

Shepherd (peeling to the sarh). V\\ sune gie you a bluidy 
nose. 

[ Tlie comhatants shahe hands and put themselves into 
attitude. 

North. Take care of your eyes. 

[Shepherd elevates his guard — and North delivers a des' 
perate right-handed lunge on his kidneys. 

Shepherd. That's no fair, ye auld blackguard. 

North. Well, then, is tbat ? 

^Shepherd receives two left-handed facers, which seem to 

* Flyte — rail. 



And takes it. 297 

muddle his knowledge-box. He bores in wildly on tht 
old man* 
Shepherd. Whew — whew — whew. Fu — fu — ^fu. What's 
that? What's that? \_The Shepherd receives pepper. 

North. Hit straight, James. So — so — so — so — so. 
Shepherd. That's foul play. There's mair nor ane o' you. 
Wha's that joinin in ? Let me alane — and I'll sune finish 
him — • 

[Mr. North, who has gradually retreated into a comer of 

the snuggery, gathers himself up for mischief and as 

the Shepherd rushes in to close, delivers a stinger 

under James's ear, thai floors him like a shot. Mr. 

North then comes out, as actively as a bird on the 

bough of a tree. 

North. I find I have a hit in me yet. A touch on the 

jugular always tells tales. Hollo ! hollo ! My dear James ! 

Deaf as a house. 

[Mr. North takes off the gloves — fetches a tumbler of the 

jug — and kneeling tenderly down by the Shepherd, 

bathes his temples. James opens his eyes, and stares 

wildly around. 

Shepherd. Is that you, Gudefallow ? Hae I had a fa' aff a 

horse, or out o' the gig ? 

North. My dear maister — out o' the gig. The young horse 
took fricht at a tup loupin* over the wa', and set aff like 
lichtnin. You sudna hae louped out — ^you sudna hae 
louped out. 

Shepherd. Whare's the gig? 
North. Never mind, maister. 
Shepherd. I say, whare's the gig? 
North. In the Loch — 
Shepherd. And the horse? 



298 Tlie Shepherd revives^ 

NorUi. Ii] the Loch too. 
Shepherd. Droon'd ? 

North. Not yet — if you look up, you'll see him soomin 
across \vi' the gig. 

Shepherd (^fixing his eyes on vacancy) . Ay — sure aneucli — 
yonner he goes ! 

North. Yon proves his breed. He's descended from, 'lie 
water-horse. • 

Shepherd. I'm verra faint. I wush I had some whusky— 

North. Here, maister — here — 

\_The Shepherd drains the tumbler, and revives 

Shepherd. Am I in the open air, or in a hoose ; I howp a 
hoose — or there maun be a concussion o' the brain, for I 
seem to see chairs and tables. 

North. Yes, maister — you have been removed in a blanket 
by eight men to Mount Benger. 

Shepherd. Is baith my legs broJ^ ? 

North. Dimia ask — dinna ask. We've sent an express to 
Embro' for Liston.* They say that when he sets broken legs 
they're stronger than ever. 

Shepherd. He's a wonderfu' operawtor — but I can scarcely 
believe that. Oh ! am I to be for life a lameter If It's a 
judgment on me for writin the Chaldee It- 
North. I canna thole, maister, to see you greetin — 

Shepherd. Mercifu' powers ! but your face is changed intil 
that o' an auld man ! — Was Mr. North frae Embro' here the 
noo? 

North. I am indeed that unhappy old man. But 'tis all 

* Robert Listen, one of tlie most eminent surgeons of tlie day, first in 
Edinburgh, and afterwards in London. He died in 1847. 

t Lameter — a cripple. 

+ Messrs. Pringle and Clegborn — both of wbom were excessively lame- 
were tbe editors of the first six numbers of Blackwood's Magazine. In the 
famous Chaldee MS. thej are satiric^ly described by the Shepherd. 



And is comforted. 299 

but a dream, my dear James — 'tis all but a dream ! What 
means all this wild disjointed talk of yours about gigs and 
horses, and a horse and a gig swimming over St. Marys Loch ? 
Here we are, my beloved friend, in Edinburgh — in Picardy 
— at the Noctes Ambrosianse — at high-jinks, my James, after 
a bout with the mufflers and the naked mawleys. 

Shepherd. I dreamed that I had knocked you down, sir. — 
Was that the case ? 

North. It was indeed, James. But I am not angry with 
you. You did not mean to hit so hard. You generously 
ran in to keep me from falling, and by some strange sudden 
twist you happened to fall undermost, and to save me, 
sacrificed yourself. — 'Twas a severe stun. 

Shepherd. The haill wecht o' mist has rolled itsel up into 
cluds on the mountain-taps, and all the scenery aneath lies 
fresh and green, wi' every kent house and tree. But I howp 
you're no sair hurt yoursel— let me help you up — 

[y/ie SiiEruEKD asi^isls Mr. !Noiith, iclto has been sitting on 
the Jioor, like the Shah, to recover his pins — and the two 
walk arm-in-arm to their respective chairs. 

North. I am sorely shaken, James. An account of our 
Set-to, our Turn-up, James, ought to be sent to that admirable 
sporting paper, BeWs Life in London. 

Shepherd. Let it, my dear sir, be a lesson to you the langest 
day you leeve, never to pick a quarrel, or even to undertak 
ony half-and-half sort o' horse-jDlay wi' a younger and a 
stronger man than yoursel. Sir, if I hadna been sae weel up 
to the business, that fa' might hae been your last. As for 
thae nasty gloves, I never wush to see their faces again a' the 
days o' my life. What's that chappin ? 

North. Probably Picardy. See, the door's locked inside. 
[^The Shephekd unlocks and opens the door. 

Shepherd. What mob's this ? 



300 A Pair of black Eyes. 

North. Show in the Democracy. 

(Enter riCAiiDY, Moa. Cadet, (he Manciple, the Clerk oj 
the Pipe, King Pejux, Sik David Gam, Tappytookie, 
and the " Best.") 
Ambrose {while Omnes hold up their hands). Dear me ! 
dear me ! 

Shepherd. What are you a' glowerin at me for, ye fules ? 
North. Tappy, bring me a looking-glass. \_Exit Tappy, 
volans. 

Shepherd. I say, ye fules, what are ye glowerin at me in 
that gate for ? Do you see horns on my head ? 

[He-enter Tappy, loith a copy of the Mirror.) 
North. Take a glance, my dear James, at the Magic Mirror. 
[The Shepherd looks in, and recoils to the sideboard. 
Shepherd. What'n a face ! What'n a pair o' black, blue, 
green, yellow een ! 

North. We must apply leeches. Mr. Ambrose, bring in a 
few bottles of leeches, and some' raw veal-steaks. 

Shepherd. Aff vvi' you — aff wi' you — the haill tot o' you. 

[Exit PiCARDY loith his Tail, 

North. Come to my arms, my incomparable Shepherd, and 

let us hob and nob, to " Gude nicht and joy be wi' us a','' iQ 

a caulker of Millbank ; and let us, during the " wullie-waught," 

think of him whose worthy name it bears — 

SJiepherd. As gude a chiel's in Christendie ! — Oh, my ever 
honored sir, what wad the warld say, if she kent the concludin 
proceedins o' this nicht ? That we were twa auld fules ! 
Narth. At times, James — 

" 'Tis folly to be wise " 

Shepherd. As auld Crow, the Oxford orator, says at the end 
o' his bonny descriptive poem, Lewesdon Hill: — 

<* To-morrow for severer tbouglit— but now 
To breakfast." 



To Breakfast ! 301 

North. To bed — -you mean — 

Shepherd. No — to breakfast. It's morning The East is 
brichtenin. — Look over awaukenin Leith — and, lo ! white 
sails glidin ower the dim blue sea ! 

North. Let us each take a cold bath. 

rMr. "NToBTH and Shepherd disappear. 



XX. 



IN WHICH, DURING THE GREA T STORM, THE SNUGGER Y 
WINDOW IS BLOWN IN, AND THE SHEPHERD SUFFERS 

The Snuggery. — Times seven o'clock* 

North and Shepherd, 

Shepherd. Oh, sir ! but there's something delightfu' in coal- 
fire glimmerin and gloomin, breaking out every noo and then 
into a flickering bleeze ; and whenever ane uses the poker, 
into a sudden illumination, vivifyin the pictured paper on the 
wa's, and settin a' the range o' looking-glasses a-low, like sae 
mony beacons kindled on the taps o' hills, burnin awa to ane 
anither ower a' the kintra-side, on the birthday nicht o' the. 
Duke o' Buccleuch, or that o' his marriage wi' that fair Eng- 
lish Leddy * — God bless them baith, and send them in gude 
time a circle o' bauld sons and bonny dochters, to uphaud 
the stately and noble house o' the King o' the Border ! 

North. Amen. James — a caulker. 

Sheplierd. That speerit's far aboon proof. There's little 
difference atween uwka veety an' awka fortis.f Ay, ma man, 
that gars your een water. Dicht them wi' the doylez, and 
then tuk a mouthfu' out o' the jug to moderate the intensity 

* In 1829 the Duke of Biiccleiicb mariied Lady Cliarlotte Anne Thynne, 
dangliter of the Marquess of Balli. 

♦ Aqua >-if<je ami agiui /ortLt. 

302 



A Wild mgJit. ^ 303 

o' the pure cretur. Haud, baud ! it's no sma' yill, but strong 
toddy, sir. {Aside) — The body 'ill be f ou afore aught o'clock. 

North. This jug, James, is rather wishy-washy ; confound 
me if I don't suspect it is milk and water ! 

Shepherd, Plowp in some speerit. Let me try't. It 'ill do 
noo, sir. That's capital boiliu water, and tholes double its 
ain wecht o' cauld Glenlivet. Let's dook in * the thermometer. 
Up, you see, to twa hunder and twunty, just the proper toddy 
pitch. It's mirawculous ! 

North. What sort of a night out of doors, James ? 

Shepherd. A fine night, sir, and like the season. The wund's 
due east, and I'se warrant the ships at anchor in the Roads 
are a' rather coggly, wi' their nebs doun the Firth, like sae 
mony rocking-horses. On turnin the corner o' Picardy, a 
blash o' sleet like a verra snawba' amaist knocked my head 
aff my shouthers ; and as for my hat, if it meet with nae 
interruption, it maun be weel on to West-Craigs by this time, 
for it flew aff in a whurlwund. Ye cauna see the sleet for 
the haur ;t the ghastly lamps are amaist entirely overpoored 
by the whustlin darkness ; and as for moon and stars, they're 
a' dead and buried, and we never mair may wutness their 
resurrection. Auld-women frae chimley-taps are clytinj wi' 
a crash into every area, and the deevil's tirlin § the kirks out- 
ower a' the Synods o' Scotland. Whisht ! Is that thunner ? 

North. I fear scarcely — but the roar in the vent is good, 
James, and tells of tempest. Would to heaven I were at sea ! 

Shepherd. That's impious. Yet you micht aiblins be safe 
aneuch in a bit cockle-shell o' an open boat — ^for some folk are 
born no to be drooned — ~" 

North. There goes another old-woman ! || 

* Doolc in — ^plunge in. t JTa«r— flying mist. 

X Clytin—iiiWui^. § TirZi?i— unroofing. 

H Old-woman — chimney-can 



30 J^ " What f 07' wumia ye marry f" 

Shepherd. Oh, but the Tarrow wull be a' ae red roar the 
noo, frae the Loch to the Ettrick. Yet wee Jamie's soun' 
asleep in his crib by this time, and dreamin, it may be. o' 
paiddlin amang the memiows in the silver sandbanks o' sim 
mer, whare the glassy stream is nae higher than his knee ; 
or o' chasin amang the broom the young linties sent by the 
sunshine, afore their wings are weel feathered, frae their 
mossy cradle in the brier-bush, and able to flee just weel 
aneuch to wile awa on and on, after their chirpin flutter, my 
dear wee canty callant, chasin first ane and then anither, on 
wings just like their ain,.the wings o' joy, love, and hope ; 
fauldin them, in a disappointment free frae ony taint o' 
bitterness, when a' the burdies hae disappeared, and his een, 
as he sits doun on the knowe, fix themselves wi' a new 
pleasure on the bonny bands o' gowans croodin round his 
feet. 

North. A bumper, my dear Shepherd, to Mount Benger. 

Shepherd. Thank ye, sir, thank ye. Oh ! my dear sir, but 
ye hae a gude heart, sound at the core as an apple on the 
sunny south side o' the tree — and ruddy as an apple, sir, is 
your cheek — 

North. Yes, James, a life of temperance preserves — 

Shepherd. Help yoursel, and put ower the jug. There's 
twunty gude years o' wear and tear in you yet, Mr. North — 
but what for wunna ye marry ? Dinna be frichtened — it's 
naething ava — and it aften grieves my heart to think o' you 
lyin your lane in that state bed, which canna be less than 
seven feet wide, when the General's widow — 

North. I have long wished for an opj)ortunity of confiding 
to you a secret which — 

Shepherd. A sacret ! Tell nae sacret to me — for I never 
a' my life could sleep wi' a sacret in my head, ony mair than 
wi' the lug-ache. But if you're merely gaun to tell me that 



North's Blarrlage. 305 

ye hae screwed up your courage at last to marry her, say't, 
do't and be dune wi't, for she's a comely and a cosy cretur yon 
Mrs. Gentle, and it 'ill do my een gude to see you mar«hin up 
wi' her, haun in haun, to the Hymeneal Altar. 

North. On Christmas day, my dear James, we shall be one 
spirit. 

Shepherd. And ae flesh. Hurraw ! hurraw ! hurraw ! Gie's 
your haun on that, my auld hearty ! What a gran' echo's in 
yon corner o' the roof ! hear till't smackin loofs after us, as if 
Cupid himsel were in the cornice ! 

North. You must write our Epithalamium. 

Shepherd. That I wull, wi' a' my birr, and sae wull Delta, 
and sae wull the Doctor,* and sae, I'm sure, wull Mr. Wuds- 
worth ; and I can answer for Sir Walter — 

North. Who has kindly promised to give away the Bride. 

Shepherd. I could greet to think that I canna be the Best 

Man.f 

North. Tickler has — 

Shepherd. Capital — capital ! I see him — look, there he is — 
wi' his speck-and-span-new sky-blue coat wi' siller buttons, 
snaw-white waistcoat wi' gracefu' flaps, licht casimer knee- 
breeks wi' lang ties, flesh-colored silk stockings wi' flowered 
gushets, pumps brushed up to a perfeck polish a' roun', the 
buckles crystal-set, a dash o' pouther in his hair, een bricht 
as diamonds, the face o' him like the verra sun, chin shaven 
smooth as satin, mouth — saw ye ever sic teeth in a man's 
head at his time o' life? — mantlin wi' jocund benisons, and 
the haill Feegur o' the incomparable Fallow, frae tap to tae, 
sax feet fowre inches and a hauf gude measure, instinck wi* 
condolence and congratulation, as if at times he were almost 
believino: Buchanan Lodcje was Southside — that he was 
changin places wi' you, in a sweet sort o' jookery-pawkery 

♦ Doctor Maginn. \ The bridegroom's man. 



806 The Oriel Window blown in. 

— that lie was Christopher North, and Mrs. Gentle on the 
verra brink o' becoming IMrs. Tickler ! 

North. James, you make me jealous. 

Shepherd. For heaven's sake, sir, dinna split on that rock. 
Remember Othello, and hoo he smothered his wife wi' the 
bowster. 

North. The night improves, and must be almost at its best 
That is a first-rate howl! Well done — hail. I pity the 
poor hot-houses. The stones cannot be less than sugar- 
almonds. 

Shepherd. Shoogger-awmons ! They're like guse eggs. If 
the lozens * w^erena pawtent plate, lang ere noo they would 
hae a' flown into flinders. But they're ball-proof. They 
wadna break though you were to let aff a pistol. 

North. What, James, is your favorite weather ? 

Shepherd. A clear, hard, black frost. Sky without a clud — 
sun bright, but almost cold — earth firm aneath your feet as a 
rock — trees silent, but not asleep, wi' their budded branches 
■ — ice-edged rivers, amaist mute and motionless, yet wimplin 
a wee, and murmuring dozingly as in a dream — the air or 
atmosphere sae rarified by the mysterious alchemy o' that 
wonderfu' Wuzzard Wunter, that when ye draw in your 
breath, ye're no sensible o' ha'in ony lungs. 

The small oriel window of the Snuggery is blown in with a 
tremendous crash. !North and the Sukvhkri) jyiosti-atcd 
among the ruins. 

North. Are you among the survivors, James — wounded or 
dead ? (An awful pause^ Alas ! alas ! who will write my 
Epithalamium ! And must Hive to see the day on which, 
gentle Shepherd, these withered hands of mine must falter 
thy Epicedia ! 

Shepherd. Oh, tell Erie, sir, if the toddy-jug has been upset 
* Loz&ns — panes of glass, lozenge-shaped. 



Prostration of the Shepherd. 307 

m this catastroi^lie, or the Tower of Babel and a' the 
speerits ? 

North {supporting Mmself on his elhow, and eying the festal 
hoard:). Jug and Tower are both miraculously preserved 
amidst the ruins ! 

Shepherd. Then am I a dead man, and lyin in a pool o'bluid. 
Oh ! dear me ! Oh ! dear me ! a bit broken lozen has cut my 
jugular ! 

North. Don't yet give yourself up, my dear, dear Shepherd, 
for a dead man. Ay — here's my crutch — I shall be on my 
legs presently — surely they cannot both be broken ; and if I 
can but get at my tape-garter, I do not despair of being able 
to tie up the carotid. 

Shepherd. Pu' the bell for a needle and thread. — What's 
this ? — I'm fentin ! 

[T/ie SflErnEED /a m/s away; and North having recovered 
his feet, and rung the hell vioJe7iilg, enter Mr. Ambrose, 
Mon. Cadp:t, Sir David Gam, King Pepin, and 
TAPrYTOOKiE, cum muUis cdiis. 

North. Away for Liston* — one and all of you, away like 
lightning for Listen ! You alone, Ambrose, support Mr. Hogg 
in this, I fear, mortal swoon. Don't take him by the feet, 
Ambrose, but lift up his head, and support it on your knee. 

[Mr. Ambrose, greathj flurried, hut with much tenderness 
obeys the mandate. 

Shepherd {opening his eyes'). Are you come hither, too, Awm- 
rose ? 'Tis a dreadfu' place. What a fire ! But let us speak 
low, or Clootie f 'Hi liear us. Is he ben the house ? — Oh ; 
Mr. North, pity me the day !, are you here too, and has a' our 
daffin come to this at last ? 

North. AVhere, my dear James, do you think you are ? In 
the Hotel. 

* See ante, p. 298, not© 1. t Clooth-^ Scotch oame for the heril. 



308 The Shepherd's Hallucination, 

Shepherd. Ay, ay, Ilotliell indeed! I swarf ed awa in a 
bluidy swoon, and hae awaukened in a fearfu' eternity. 
Noctes AmbrosianjB indeed ! And whare, oh ! whare is that 
pair, short-hauud, harmless body, Guvney ? Hae we pu'd him 
doim wi' us to the bottomless pit? 

North. Mr. Ambrose, let me support his head, while you 
bring the Tower of Babel. 

[ Mr. Ambrose 6n??^s the Toiver of Babel, and applies tJte 
hattlemeyifs to the SiiEPnERD's lips. 

Shepherd. Whusky here ! I daurna taste it, for it can be 
naething but melted sulphur. Yet, let me just pree't. It 
has a maist unearthly similitude to Glenlivet. Oh ! Mr. 
North — Mr. North — tak aff thae horns frae your head, for 
they're awfu' fearsome. Hae you gotten a tail too ? And 
are you, or are you not, answer me that single question, an 
Imp o' Darkness ? 

North. Bear a hand, Mr. Ambrose, and give Mr. Hogg 
London-carries to his chair. 

[ North and Ambrose mutually cross wrists, and bear the 
Shepherd to his seat. 

Shepherd. Hoo the wund sughs through the lozenless wun 
dow, awaakenin into tenfold fury the Blast-Furnace. 

[Re-enter Mon. Cadet, King Pekin, Sir David Gam, 
and Tappytoorie.) 

Mon. Cadet. Mr. Liston has left town to attend the Perth 
Breakneck, which has had an overturn on Queensf erry Hill — • 
and 'tis said many legs and heads are fractured. 

Tappytoorie. He'll no be back afore midnicht. 

Ambrose {chastising Tappy). How dare you speak, sir? 

North. Most unlucky that the capsize had not been delayed 
for ten minutes. How do you feel now, James ? 

Shepherd. Feel? I never was better in my life. But 
whai's the matter wi' yoxu- nose, sir? About half-way doun 



" Do you believe in the Devil f " 809 

the middle, it has taken a turn at right angles towards 
your left lug. Ane o' the splinter-bars o' ■ the window has 
bashed it frae the line o' propriety, and you're a fricht for 
life. Only look at him, gentlemen ; saw ye ever siccan a 
phoesiognomy ? 

North. Tarriers, begone ! [^Exeunt Omnes. 

Shepherd. We're twa daft fules — that's sure aneuch — and 
did the public ken o' this, the idiwuts wad cry out, 
" Buffoonery — buffoonery ! " — But we can n^ever sit here 
without lozens. 

Re-enter Mr. Ambrose and a Carpenter^ with a 
new Window-frame.) 

North. Let me adjust the pulleys. It fits to a hair. Well 
done, deacon. Expedition's the soul of business — off with 
your caulk r. — Thank you — Good-night. 

[Mr. Ambrose and. Carpenter, exeunt with the debris.'\ 

Shepherd. Joking and jinks apart, Mr. North, there's bluid 
on your nose. Let me pit a bit o' black stickin-plaister on't. 
There — Mrs. Gentle wad think you unco killin wi' that beauty 
spot on j^our neb. 

North. Hush. — Pray, James, do you believe in the Devil ? 

Shefiherd. Just as firmly as I believe in you, sir. Yet, I 
confess, I never could see the sin in abusin the ne'erdoweel ; 
whereiis mony folk, no ower and aboon religious in ither 
respects, hand up their hauns and the whites o' their een 
whenever you satireeze Satan — and cry " Whisht, whisht ! " 
My mind never yet has a' my days got rid o' ony early im- 
pression ; and against baith reason and revelation, I canna 
think o' the Deevil even yet, without seein him wi' great big 
goggle fiery een, a mouth like a foumart-trap, the horns o' a 
Lancashire kyloe, and a tufted tail atween that o' a bill's, a 
lion's and a teegger's. Let me see him when I wull, sleepin 
or w.ikin, he's ave the verra leevin image o' a woodcut. 



810 J^<^90 ^^ " liorniey 

Norlh. Mr. Soiitliey, in some of his inimitable ballads, has 
turned liini into sucli ridicule that he has laid his tail entirely 
aside, screwed off his horns, hid his hoofs in Wellingtons, and 
appeared, of late years, in shape and garb more worthy of the 
Prince of tlie Air. 

Shepherd. Ay, Mr. Southey's a real wutty man, forbye 
being a great poet. But do you ken, for a' that, my hair 
stands on end o' its tinglin roots, and my skin amaist crawls 
aff my body, whenever, by a blink o' the storm-driven moon 
in a mirk nicht, I chance to forgather wi' auld Clootie, 
Hornie, and Tuft-tail, in the middle o' some wide moor 
amang hags, and peat-mosses, and quagmires, nae house 
within mony miles, and the uncertain weather-gleam, black- 
ened by some auld woods, swingin and sughin to the wind 
as if hotchin wi' warlocks. 

North. Poo — I should at once take the bull by the horns — 
or, seizing him by the tail, drive him with my crutch into the 
nearest loch. 

Shepherd. It's easy speakin. But you see, he never 
appears to a man that's no frichtened aforehaun out o' his 
seven senses — and imagination is the greatest cooard on 
earth, breakiu out into a cauld sweat, his heart loup-loupin, 
like a fish in a creel, and the retina o' his ee representin a' 
things, mair especially them that's ony way infernal, in grue- 
some features, dreadfully disordered ; till reason is shaken, 
by the same panic, judgment lost, and the haill so wl distract- 
ed in the insanity o' Fear, till you're nae better than a stark- 
staring madman. 

North. Good, James — good. 

Shepherd. In sic a mood could ony Christian cretur, even 
Mr. Southey himsel, tak baud o' the deil either by the horns 
or the tail ? — Mair likely that in frenzied desperation you loup 
wi' a spang on the bristly back o' the Evil Ane, wha gallops 



" PyeU are no canny ^^ 311 

aff wi' jou demented into some loch, where you aie found 
floatin in the mornin a swollen corp, wi' the mark o' claws 
on your hause, your een haiigin out o' their sockets, your 
head scalped wi' something waur than a tammyhawk, and 
no a single bane in your body that's no grund to mash 
like a malefactor's on the wheel for having curst the Holy 
Inquisition. 

North. Why, my dear Shepherd, genius, I feel, can render 
terrible even the meanest superstition. 

Shepherd. Meanness and majesty signify naething in the 
supernatural. I've seen an expression in the een o' a pyet,* 
wi' its head turned to the ae side, and though in general a 
shy bird, no caring for you though you present your rungf at 
it as if you were gaun to shoot it wi' a gun, that has made 
my verra heart-strings crunkle up wi' the thochts o' some 
indefinite evil comin, I kent na frae what quarter o* the 
lowerin heavens. — For pyets, at certain times and places, are 
no canny, and their nebs look as if they were peckin at 
mortcloths. 

North. Cross him out, James — cross him out. 

Shepherd. A raven ruggin at the booels o' a dead horse is 
naething; but ane sittin a' by himsel on a rock, in some 
hmely glen, and croak-croakin, naebody can think why, noo 
Jookin savagely up at the sun, and noo tearin, no in hunger, 
for his crap's fu' o' carrion, but in anger and rage, the moss 
aneath him wi' beak or tawlons ; and though you shout ;ii 
him wi' a' your micht, never steerin a single fit frae his 
stiince, but absolutely lauchin at you wi' a horrid guller in 
the sooty throat o' him, in derision o' you, ane o' God s 
reasonable creturs, — I say, sir, that sic a bird, wi' sic unac- 
coontable conduct, in sic an inhuman solitude, is africhtsome 
demon ; and that when you see him hop-hoppin awa wi' 



812 The Shepherd paints, 

great jumps in amang the region o' rocks, you wadna follow 
him into his auncient lair for onj consideration whatsomever, 
but turn your face doun the glen, and thank God at the 
sound o' some distant bagpipe. A' men are augurs. Yet, 
sitting here, what care I for a raven mair than for a how- 
towdie ? 

North. The devil in Scotland, during the days o' witch- 
craft, was a most contemptible character. 

Shepherd. Sae muckle the better. It showed that sin maun 
be a low, base state, when a superstitious age could embody 
it in a nae mair imposing impersonation. 

North. Perhaps it is wrong to despise anything ; and cer- 
tainly, in the highest Christian light, it is so. Wordsworth 
finely says, " He who feels contempt for any living thing has 
faculties which he has never used." 

Shepherd. Then Wudsworth has faculties in abundance that 
he has never used ; for he feels contempt for every leevin 
thing, in the shape either o' man or woman, that can write as 
gude or better poetry than himsel — which I alloo is no easy ; 
but still it's possible, and has been dune, and will be dune 
again, by me and ithers. But that's rinnin awa frae the 
subject. . . . To my lugs, sir, the maist shockin epithet in 
our language is — Apostate. Soon as you hear it, you see a 
man selling his sowl to the deevil. 

North. To Mammon. 

Shepherd. Belial or Beelzebub. I look to the mountains, 
Mr. North, and stern they stand in a glorious gloom, for the 
sun is strugglin wi' a thunder-cloud, and facing him a faint 
but fast-brichtenin rainbow. The ancient spirit o' Scotland 
comes on me frae the sky, and the sowl within me re-swears 
in silence the oath o' the Covenant. There they are — the 
Covenanters — a' gathered thegither, no in fear and tremblin, 
but wi' Bibles in their bosoms, and swords by their sides, in a 



Tlie Covenanters' Meeting, 318 

glen deep as the sea. and still as death, but for the sound o' 
a stream and the cry o' an eagle. " Let us sing, to the praise 
and glory of God, the hundredth Psalm," quoth aloud, clear 
voice, though it be the voice o' an aulcf man ; and up to 
Heaven bauds he his Strang withered hauns, and in the 
gracious wunds o' heaven are flying abroad his grey hairs or 
say, rather, white as the silver or the snaw. 

North. Oh for Wilkie ! 

Shepherd. The eagle and the stream are silent, and the 
heavens and the earth are brocht close thegither by that 
triumph] n psalm. Ay, the clouds cease their sailing, and lie 
still ; the mountains bow their heads ; and the crags, do they 
not seem to listen, as in that remote place the hour o' the 
delighted day is filled with a holy hymn to the Lord God o* 
Israel ? 

North. My dear Shepherd ! 

She'pherd. Oh ! if there should be sittin there — even in that 
congregation, on which, like God's own eye, looketh down the 
meridian sun, now shinin in the blue region — an Apostate ! 

North. The thought is terrible. 

Shepherd. But na, na, na ! See that bonny blue-eed, rosyr 
cheeked, gowden-haired lassie — only a thought paler than 
usual, sweet lily that she is — half-sittin, half-lyin on the 
greensward, as she leans on the knee o' her stalwart grand- 
father — for the sermon's begun, and all eyes are fastened on 
the preacher, — look at her till your heart melts as if she were 
your ain, and God had given you that beautifu' wee image 
o' her sainted mother, and tell me if you think that a' the 
tortures that cruelty could devise to inflict, would ever wring 
frae tiiae sweet innocent lips ae word o' abjuration o' the 
faith in which the flower is growing up amang the dewdraps 
o' her native hills ? 

North. Never — never — never ! 



814 Hogg as cm Eagle. 

Shepherd She proved it, sir, in death. Tied to a stake on 
the sea-sands she stood ; and first she heard, and then she 
saw, the white roarin o' the tide. But the smile forsook not 
her face ; it brichtened in her een when the water reached 
lier knee ; calmer and calmer was her voice of prayer, as it 
beat again' her bonny breast ; nae shriek when a wave closed 
her lips for ever ; and methinks, sir — for ages on ages hae 
lapsed awa sin'that martyrdom, and therefore Imagination may 
withouten blame dally wi' grief — methink, sir, that as her 
golden head disappeared, 'twas like a star sinkin in the sea ! 

North. God bless you, my dearest James ! shake hands ! 

Shepherd. When I think on these things — in olden times 
the produce o' the common day — and look aroun' me noo, I 
could wush to steek my een in the darkness o' death ; for 
dearly as I love it still, alas ! alas ! I am ashamed o' my 
country. ... Eh ? "What ? 

North. Whisht ! Had you your choice, James, pray what 
sort of a bird would you be ? 

Shepherd. I wad transmigrate intil a gey hantle. And, 
first and foremost, for royal ambition is the poet's sin, I 
would be an Eagle. Higher than ever in his balloon did 
Lunardi soar, would I shoot up into heaven. Poised in that 
empyreal air, ^vhere nae storm-current flows, far up aboon 
the region of clouds, with wide-spread and unquivering wings 
would I hang in the virgin sunshine. Nae human ee should 
see me in my cerulean tabernacle — but mine should see the 
human specks by the sides of rocks and rivers, creeping and 
crawling, like worms as they are, over their miserable earthly 
fiats, or toiling, like reptiles as they are, up their majestic 
molehills. Down with a sughing sweep in one moment 
would I descend a league of atmosi)here, still miles and miles 
above all the dwarf mountain-taps and pigmy forests. Ae 
headlong lapse mair, and my ears would di'ink the faint 



North is " coomedy 315 

thunder of some puny cataract ; another mile in a moment 
nearer the poor humble earth, and, lo ! the woods are what 
men call majestic, the vales wide, and the mountains magnifi- 
cent. That pitiful bit of smoke is a city — a metropolitan 
city. I cross it wi' ae wave of my wing. — The roar of 
ocean — what — what's that I hear? You auld mannerless 
rascal, is that you I hear snorin? Ma faith, gin I was an 
eagle, I wad scart your hafhts wi' my tawlons, and try 
which o' our nebs was the sharpest. Weel, that's malst 
extraordinar — he absolutely snores on a different key wi 
each o' his twa individual nostrils — snorin a first and second 
like a catch or glee. I wunner if he can snore by the notes 
— or trusts entirely to his dreaming ear. It's really no that 
unharmonious — and I think I hear him accompanying Mrs. 
Gentle on the spinnet. Let's coom his face wi' burned cork. 

\_Tlie Shepherd applies a cork to the fire, and makes Nokth 
a Blackamoor, 

North, Be not so coy — so cold — my love. " Can danger 
lurk within a kiss ? " 

Shepherd. Othello — Othello — Othello! 

North (awaking with a tremendous yawn), 'Tis gone — 
'twas but a dream ! 

Shepherd. Ay, ay, what's that you were dreamin about 
sir ? Your face is a' ower blushes — just like a white rose 
tinsred with the setting sun. 

North. I sometimes speak in my sleep. Did I do so now ? 

Shepherd. If you did, sir, I did not hear you — for I have 
been takin a nap mysel, and just awaukened this moment 
wi' a fa' frae the cock on a kirk-steeple. I hae often odd 
dreams ; and I thocht I got astride o' the cock, and was 
haudin on by the tail, when the feathers gave way, and had 
it not been a dream, I should infallibly have been dashed to 
pieces. i)o you ever dream o' kissing, sir ? 



316 At the Looking-glass. 

North. Fie, James! 

Shepherd. Oh, but you look quite captivatin, quite seducin, 
when jo\i blush that gate, sir ! I never could admire a dark- 
complexioned man. 

North. I do — and often wish mine had been dark — 

Shepherd. Ye made a narrow escape the noo, sir ; for out 
o' revenge for your liavin ance coomed my face when I fell 
asleep on my chair, I was within an ace of coomin yours — ■ 

North {starting up furiously). A coomed face? Have you 
dared, you swineherd, to cork my face ? If you have, you 
shall repent it till the latest day of your life. 

Shepherd. You surely will forgive me when you hear I 
am on my deathbed — 

North {at the mirror). Blackguard ! 

Shepherd. 'Tweel you're a' that. I ca' that epithet multum 
in parvo. You're a maist complete blackguard — that's beyond 
a' manner o' dout. Wliat'n whites o' een ! and what'n whites 
o' teeth ! But your hair's no half grizzly aneuch for a blacka- 
moor — at least an African ane — and gies you a sort o' un- 
canny, mongrel appearance that wad frichten the King o' 
Congo. 

North. Talking with a face as black as the crown of my 
hat! 

Shepherd. And a great deal blacker. The croon o' your 
hat's broon, and I wunner you're no ashamed, sir, to wear't 
on the streets ! but your face, sir, is as black as the back o' 
that chimley, and baith wad be muckle the better o' the 
sweeps. 

North. James, I have ever found it impossible to be irate 
with you more than half a minute at a time during these last 
twenty years. I forgive you — and do you know that I do 
not look so much amiss in cork. 'Pon honor — 

Shepherd. It's a great improvement on you, sir — and 1 



The Prize Goose. 317 

would seriously advise you to coom your face every day 
when you dress for denner. Let's order sooper. 

North, Well, James, be it so. 

(^As the Shepherd rkes to ring the bell, the Timepiece 
strikes Ten, and Picakdy enters with his Tail.') - 

Shepherd. Ye dinua mean to say, Mr. Awmrose, that that's 
a' the sooper ? Only the roun', a cut o' sawmon, beefsteaks, 
and twa brodds o' eisters! This 11 never do, Awmrose. 
Remember there's a couple o' us — and that a sooper that 
may be no amiss for ane may be little better than starvation 
to twa ; especially if them twa be in the prime and vigor o' 
life, liae come in frae the kintra, and got yaup * ower some 
half-dizzen jugs o' Strang whusky-toddy. 

Ambrose (bowing). The boiled turkey and the roasted 
ducks will be on the table forthwith — unless, Mr. Hogg, 
you would i^refer a goose which last week won a sweep- 
stakes — 

Sheplierd. What ? at Perth races ? Was he a bluid-guse, 
belangin to a member o' the Caledonian Hunt ? 

Ambrose {smiling). No, Mr. Hogg — there was a competi- 
tion between six parishes which should produce the greatest 
o-oose, and I had the good fortune to purchase the successful 
candidate, who was laid, hatched, and brought up at the 
Manse of — 

Shepherd. I ken the successful candidate brawly. — Wasna 
he a white "ane, wi' a tremendous doup that soopt the grun', 
and hadna he contracted a habit o' turnin in the taes o' his 
left fit ? 

Ambrose. The same, sir. He weighed, ready for spit, 
twenty pounds jump — feathers and giblets four pounds more. 
Nor do I doubt, Mr. North, that had your Miss Nevison had 
him for a fortnight longer at the Lodge, she would have 

* r<2Mj9— hungry. 



318 A Game at Leap-frog. 

fattened him (for he is a gander) up to thirty, — that is to 
say, with all his paraphernalia. 

Shepherd. Show him in ; raw or roasted, show him in. 
[Enter King Pepin and Sir David Gam, with the successful 
. candidate, supported hy Men. Cadet and Tappytoorie.) 
"What a strapper ! Puir chiel, I wadna hae kent him, sae 
changed is he frae the time I last saw him at the Manse, 
takin a walk in the cool o' the Saturday e'ening, wi' his' wife 
and family, and ever and anon gabblin to himsel in a sort o' 
undertone, no unlike a minister rehearsin his sermon for the 
coming Sabbath, 

North. How comes he to be ready roasted, Ambrose ? 

Ambrose. A party of twenty are about to sup in the Saloon, 
and — 

Shepherd. Set him doun ; and if the gentlemen wuss to see 
North cut up a guse, show the score into the Snuggery. 

l^The successful candidate is safely got on the hoard. 
Hear hoo the table groans ! 

North. I feel my limbs rather stiffish with sitting so long. 
Suppose, James, that we have a little leap-frog. 

Shepherd. Wi' a' my heart. Let me arrange the forces 
roun' the table. Mr. Awmrose, staun' you there — Mon. 
Cadet, fa' intil the rear o' your brither — Pippin, twa yairds 
ahint Awvcivo^q junior — Sir Dawvit, dress by his Majesty — • 
and Tappytoorie, turn your back upon me. Noo, lout doun 
a' your heads. Here goes. — Keep the pie warm. 

[TAe Shepherd vaults away, and the whole circle is in 
perpetual motion ; North distinguished hy his agility in 
the ring. 

North (piping). Heads all up — ^no louting. There, James, 
[ topped you without touching a hair. 

Shepherd. IVIirawculous auldman ! A lameter too I I neve? 
felt his hauns on my shouther ! 



Tickler wins, 319 

Ambrose. I'm rather short of breath, and must drop out o£ 
the line. 

[Mr. Ambrose drops out of the line, and Jus place is supplied 
hy Tickler, who at that moment has entered the room un' 
observed. 

Shepherd (coining unexpectedly upon Tickler), Here's a 
steeple! What glamory's this? 

North. Stand aloof, James*, and I'll clear the weathercock 
on the spire. 

[North, using his- crutch as a leaping-pole, clears Tickler 
in grand style; but Tappytoorie, the next in the 
series, boggles, and remains balanced on Southside's" 
shoulders, 

TicMer. Firm on your pins, North. I'm coming. 
[Tickler, with Tappytoorie on his shoulders, clears 
CiiRiSTOPnEH m a canter. 
Omnes. Huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! 

North {addressing Tickler). Mr. Tickler, it gives me 
great j)leasure to present to you the Silver Frog, which I am 
feiire will never be disgraced by your leaping. 

[Tickler stoops; his head, and jSTortii hangs the Prize Silver 
Fro(j, by a silver chain, round his neck; Tappytoorie 
dismounts, and the Three sit down to sup>per. 

Shepherd. Some sax or seven slices o' the breist, sir, and 
dinna spare the stuffin. — Mr. Awmrose, gie my trencher a 
gude clash o' aipple-sass. — Potawtoes. Thank ye. — Noo, 
some o' the smashed. — Tappy, the porter. — What guse ! ! ! 

Tickler. Cut the apron off the bishop, North ; but you 
must have a longer spoon to get into the interior. 

Ambrose. Here is a punch-ladle, sir. 

Shepherd. Gie him the great big silver soup ane. — Sic sage ! 

Tickler. Why, that is likcr tlic leg of a sheep than of a 
goose. 



320 The Grander is discussed. 

Shepherd. Awmrose, my man, dinna forget the morn * to 
let us hae the giblets. — Pippin, the mustard. — Mr. North, as 
naebody seems to be axin for't, gie me the bishop's apron, it 
seems sappy. What are ye gaun to eat yoursel, sir? Dinna 
mind helpin me, but attend to your nain sooper. 

North. James, does not the side of the breast which I have 
now been heyp^ing remind you of Salisbury Crags ? 

Shepherd. It's verra precipitous. The skeleton maun be 
sent to the College Museum, to staun' at the fit o' the 
elephant, the rhinoceros, and the cammyleopardawlis ; and 
that it mayna be spiled by unskilful workmanship, I vote 
we finish him cauld the morn afore we yoke to the giblet- 
pie. [ Carried nem. con. 

Tickler. Goose always gives me a pain in my stomach. 
But to purchase pleasure at a certain degree of pain is true 
philosophy. So, my dear North, another plateful. James, 
a caulker ? 

Shepherd. What's your wuU ? 

TicMer. Oh ! nothing at all. — Ambrose, the Glenlivet to 
Mr. North. — Mr. Hogg, I believe, never takes it during 
supper. 

[ The Shepherd tips Ambrose the wink^ and the gurgle 

goes round the table. 
[Silence, with slight interruptions, and no conversation for 
about three-quarters of an hour. 

Nathan Gurney. 
Shepherd. I had nae previous idea that steaks eat sae 
capital after guse. Some sawmon.f 
North. Stop, James. Let all be removed, except the fish— . 

* The viorn — to-morrow. 

t "Ko greater compHmeiit," says a recent writer, "was ever paid to Pro- 
fessor Wilson than by the hypochondriac who, after failing to obtain an 
appetite from tonics, was beguiled into reading tlie Xoctef^, and ut once ' set 
ill for serious eating' with the will of the Sliojiherd hunself-" 



" Lord Eldon " is introduced, 321 

fco wit, the salmon, the rizzards, the speldrins, the herrings, 
and the oysters. 

Shepherd. And bring some mair fresh anes. Mr. Awm- 
rose, you maun mak a deal o' siller by sellin your eister-shells 
for manur to the farmers a' roun' about Embro' ? They're 
as glide's lime — indeed, I'm thinkin they are lime~-a sort o' 
sea-lime, growing on rocks by the shore, and a coatin at the 
same time to leevin and edible creturs. Oh, the wonnerfu' 
warks o' Nature ! 

North. Then wheeling the circular to the fire, let us have 
a parting jug or two — 
Shepherd. Each ? 

{Enter Mr. Ambrose idtJi Lord Eldox.) 
Noi^ih. Na ! here's his Lordship full to the brim. He 
holds exactly one gallon, Luperial Measure ; and that quantity, 
according to Mrs. Ambrose's recipe, cannot hurt us — 
Shepherd. God bless the face o' him ! 
Tickler. Pray, James, is it a true bill that you have had 
the hydrophobia ? 

Shepherd. Owertrue; but I'll gie you a description o't at 

our next. Meanwhile, let's ca' in that puir cretur Gurney, 

and gie him a drap drink. Nawthan ! Nawthan ! Nawtban ! 

Gurney (in a shrill voice from the interior of the Ear of Diony- 

nus). Here — here — here! 

Shepherd. What'n a vice ! Like a young ratton * squaakin • 
ahint the lath and plaister. 

North. No rattons here, James. Mr. Gurney is true as 
steel. 

Shepherd. Reserve that short similie for yoursel, sir ! 
Oh, sir, but you're elastic as a drawn Damascus swurd. Lean 
a* your wecht on't, wi' the pint on the grun, but fear na, 
while it bends, that it will break ; for back again frae the 

* JRaifon—nii. 

21 



322 North's Out and Thrust. 

semicircle springs it in a second in til the straiiglit line ; and 
woe be to him wha daurs that cut and thrust ! for it gangs 
tlirough his body like licht through a wundow, and before 
the sinner kens he is wounded, you turn him ower on his 
back, sir, stane-dead ! 

[Mr. GuRNEYyoms the party ^ and the curtain of course falls. 



XXI. 

TN WHICH, THE ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER DINING 
WITH THE THREE, THE SHEPHERD MOUNTS 

BONASSUS. 

Scene, — The Saloon, illuminated hy the grand Gas Orrery. 
Time, — First of April — Six o'clock. Present, — North, 
the English Opium Eater,* the Shepherd, Tickler, 
in Court-Dresses. The three celebrated young Scottish 
Le ANDERS, with their horns, in the hanging gallery. Air : 
^■^ Brose and Brochan and a'." 

TICKLER. 



.ev^" 






^ -dnos ;8iq?0 -g 

® Mulligatawny. Scotch Broth. Cocky-Leeky, ^ 

CO ^ 

o o 

"9 Potato Soup. ^ 



'"'^^o-n^ _ pease ^'^ 



ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER. 



Shepherd. Dinna abuse Burns, Mr. De Qiiinslij. Neithei 

* Thomas De Quiiicey has been already referred to more than once in the 
course of these dialogues. Now he is introduced as an interlocutor; and, 
If I may be permitted to say so, the general character of his conversation 
has been imitated not infelicitously by his friend the Professor. But 



824 The English Opmm-Eater. 

you nor ony ither Englishman can thoroughly understaun' 
three sentences o' his poems — 

English Opium-Eater [with much animation). I have for 
some years past longed for an opportunity to tear into pieces 
that gross national delusion, born of prejudice, ignorance, and 
bigotry, in which, from highest to lowest, all literary classes 
of Scotchmen are as it were incarnated — to wit, a belief, 
strong as superstition, that all their various dialects must be 
as unintelligible, as I grant that most of them are uncouth 
and barbarous to Encrlish ears — even to those of the most 
accomplished and consummate scholars. Whereas, to a 
Danish, Norwegian, Swedish, Saxon, German, French, Italian, 
Spanish — and let me add, Latin and Greek scholar, there is 
not even a monosyllable that — 

Shepherd. What's a gowpen o' glaur ? 

English Opiiim-Eater. Mr. Hogg — sir, I will not be inter- 
rupted — 

Shepherd. You canna tell. It's just twa neif-fu's o* 
clai^ts.* 

North. James — James — James ! 

Shepherd. Kit — Kit — Kit. But beg your pardon, Mr. De 
Quiushy — afore denner I am aye unco snappish. I admit 
you're a great grammarian. But kennin something o' a 
language by bringin to bear uj)on't a' the united efforts o' 
knowledge and understaunin — -baith first-rate — is ae thing, 
and feelin every breath and every shadow that keeps playin 
ower a' its syllables, as if by a natural and born instinct, is 
anither ; the first you may aiblins hae — naebody likelier, — 
but to the second, nae man may pretend that hasna had the 

tlie reader who would learn what Mr. De Quincey himself is in proprid per- 
sond — what fascinating powers of eloquence he possesses — how deep his 
poetical sensibilities are— aaJ how profound liis philosopliical acumen— 
must be referred to his collected works. [De Quiucey died in 1859,] 

* Two handf tils of mud. 



On the Scottish Tongue. 325 

happiness and the honor o' havin been born and bred in 
bonny Scotland. What can ye ken o' Kilmeny ? 

English Opium-Eater {smiling graciously). 'Tis a ballad 
breathing the sweetest, simplest, wildest spirit of Scottish 
t^i'aditionary song — music, as of some antique instrument, long 
lost, but found at last in the Forest among the decayed roots 
of trees, and touched, indeed, as by an instinct, by the only 
man who could reawaken its sleeping chords — the Ettrick 
Shepherd. 

Shepherd. Na — if you say that sincerely — and I never saw 
a broo smoother wi' truth than your ain — I maun qualify 
my former apothegm, and alloo you to be an exception frae 
the general rule. I wush, sir, you would write a Glossary 
o' the Scottish Language. I ken naebody fitter. 

North. Our distinguished guest is aware that this is " All 
Fool's Day," — and must, on that score, pardon these court- 
dresses. We consider them, my dear sir, appropriate to this 
Anniversary. 

Shepherd. Mine wasna originally a court-dress. It's the 
uniform o' the Border Club. But nane o' the ither members 
would wear them, except me and the late Dyuk o' Buccleuch. 
So when the King cam to Scotland, and expeckit to be intro- 
duced to me at Holyroodhouse, I got the tiler at Yarrow- 
Ford to cut itdoun after a patron * frae Embro' — 

English Opium-Eater. Green and gold — to my eyes the 
most beautiful of colors, — the one characteristic of earth, the 
other of heaven — and therefore, the two united, emblematic 
of genius. 

Shepherd. Oh ! Mr. De Quinshy — sir, but you're a pleasant 
cretur — and were I ask't to gie a notion o' your mainners to 
them that had never seen you, I should just use twa words, 
Urbanity and Amenity — meanin, by the first, that saft, bricht 

* Patron — pattern. 



820 Tlie Swords are laid aside, 

polish that a man gets by leevin amang gentleman scholars 
in touns and cities, burnished on the solid metal o' a happy 
natur hardened by the rural atmosphere o' the pure kintra 
air, in which I ken you hae ever delighted ; and by the ither, 
a peculiar sweetness, amaist like that o' a woman's, yet sae 
far frae bein' feminine, as masculine as that o' Allen Ramsay's 
ain Gentle Shepherd — and breathin o' a harmonious union 
between the heart, the intelleck, and the imagination, a' the 
three keepin their ain places, and thus makin the vice,* 
speech, gesture, and motion o' a man as composed as a figure 
on a pictur by some painter that was a master in his art, and 
produced his effects easily — and ane kens na hoo — ^by his 
lichts and shadows. Mr. North, amna t I richt in the thocht, 
if no in the expression ? 

North. You have always known my sentiments, James — 

Shepherd. I'm thinkin we had better lay aside our swurds. 
They're kittle dealin when a body's stannin or walkin ; but 
the very deevil's in them when ane claps his doup on a chair, 
for here's the hilt o' mine interferin wi' my ladle-hand. 

Tichler. Why, James, you have buckled it on the wrong 
side. 

Shepherd. What ? Is the richt the wrang ? 

North. Let us all untackle. Mr. Ambrose, hang up each 
man's sword on his own hat-peg. — There. 

North. Hark ! my gold repeater is smiting seven. We 
allow an hour, Mr. De Quincey, to each course — and then — ■ 

[ The Leanders play " TJie Boatie BowSf" — the doorjliei 
open, — enter Picardt and his clan, 

* Fice—voice. t Amna—axa. not. 



" The simple Coo's HomP 
SECOND COURSE— FISH. 
TICICLEB. 



327 





•ss^a ssaiuioa 

Turcot- 

■Windermere Char. 

Soles 
ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER. 

Shepherd. I'm sure we canna be sufficiently gr^tefu' for 
having got rid o' a' tliae empty tureens o' soup — so let us noo 
set in for serious eatin, and tackle to the inhabitants o' the 
Great Deep. What's that bit body, North, been about ? 
Daidlin * wi' the mock-turtle. I hate a' things mock — soups, 
pearls, fause tails, baith bustles and queues, wigs, cauves, 
religion, freenship, love, glass-een, rouge on the face o' a 
woman, — no' exceppin even cork legs, for timmer anes are 
far better, there bein' nae attempt at deception, which ought 
never to be pratised on ony o' God's reasonable creatures- 
it's sae insultin. 

English Opium-Eater. Better open outrage than hidden 
guile, which — 

Shepherd. Just sae, sir. — But it's no a bonny instrument, 
that key-bugle ? I've been tryin to learn't a' this wunter, 
beginnin at first wi' the simple coo's-horn. But afore I had 
weel gotten the gamut, I had nearly lost my life. 

Tickler. What ? From mere loss of breath — positive ex- 
haustion ? An abscess in the lungs, James ? 

* Daidlin — trifliBg. 



828 Tlie Shepherd's Adventure, 

Shepherd. Notliing o' the sort. I hae wund and lungs foi 
onytlihig — even for roariu you doun at argument, whan, driven 
to the wa'. you begin to storm like a Stentor, till the verra 
ueb o' the jug on the dirlin table regards you wi' astonish- 
ment, and the speeders are seen rinnin alang the ceilin to 
shelter themselves in their corner cobwebs. — (Canna ye learn 
frae Mr. De Quinshy, man, to speak laigh and lown, trustin 
mair to sense and less to soun', and you'll find your advan- 
tage in't?,— But I allude, sir, to an Adventure. 

North. An adventure, James ? 

Shepherd. Ay — an adventure — but as there's nane o' you 
for cod's-head and shouthers, I'll first fortify mysel wi' some 
forty or fifty flakes — like half-crown pieces. 

Tickler. Some cod, James, if you please. 

Shepheid. Help yoursel — I'm unco thrang * the noo. Mr. 
De Quinshy, what fish are you devoorin ? 

English Opium-Eater. Soles. 

Shepherd. And you, Mr. North ? 

North. Salmon. 

Shepherd. And you, Mr. Tickler ? 

Tickler. Cod. 

Shepherd. You're a' in your laconics. I'm fear'd for the 
banes, otherwise, after this cod's dune, I sud like gran' to gie 
that pike a yokin. I ken him for a Linlithgow loon by the 
length o' his lantern-jaws, and the peacock-neck color o' the 
dorsal ridge — and I see by the jut o' his stammack there's 
store o' stuffin. There'll be naething between him and me, 
when the cod's dune for, but halibut and turbot — the first the 
wershest and maist fushionless o' a' swimmin creturs — and 
the second ower rich, unless you intend eatin no other specie 
o' fish. 

Tickler. Now — for your adventure — ^my dear Shepherd. 

* Thrang— \>USY' 



With the Bonassus. 829 

Shtpherd. "Wliislit — and you'se liear't. I gaed out ae day, 
ayont the kiiowe — the same, Mr. North, thatkythes* aboon 
the bit field whare I tried, you ken, to raise a counterband crap 
o' tobacco — and sat doun on a brae among the brackens — 
then a' red as the heavens in sunset — tootin avva on the Horn, 
ettlin first at B flat, and then at A sharp, — when I hears, at 
the close o' a lesson, what I thocht the grandest echo that 
ever cam frae a mountain-tap — an echo like a rair o' the 
ghost of ane o' the Bulls o' Bashan, gane mad amang other 
horned spectres like liimsel in the howef o' the cloudy 
sky— 

English Opium-Eater, Mr. North, allow me to direct your 
attention to that image, which seems to me perfectly original, 
and at the same time perfectly true to nature ; original I am 
entitled to call it, since I remember nothing resembling it, 
either essentially or accidentally, in prose or verse, in the 
literature of Antiquity, — in that of the middle, ordinarily, but 
ignorantly, called the Dark Ages, — in that which arose in 
Europe after the revival of letters — though assuredly letters 
had not sunk into a state from which it could be said with 
any precision that they did revive, — or in that of our own 
Times, which seems to me to want that totality and unity 
which alone constitute an Age, otherwise but a series of un- 
connected successions, destitute of a;ny causative principal of 
cohesion or evolvement. True to nature no less am I en- 
titled to call the image, inasmuch as it giveth, not indeed 
" to airy nothing a local habitation and a name," but to an 
" airy something, ^^ namely, the earthly bellowing of an animal 
whose bellow is universally felt to be terrific, nay, moreover- 
acd therefore sublime, — (for that terror lieth at the root — ii 
not always, yet of verity in by for the greater number of in 
stances — of the true sublime, from early boyhood my intellect 

♦Xj/^/ies— shows itself. t .Bow^e— hollow. 



8C0 TJte ShephercC s Adventure. 

saw, and my imagination felt to be among the great primal 
intuitive truths of our spiritual frame), — ^because it giveth, I 
repeat, to tlie earthly bellowing of such an animal an aerial 
character, which, for the moment, deludes the mind into a 
belief of the existence of a cloudy kine, spectral in the sky- 
region, else thought to be the dwelling-place of silence and 
vacuity, and thus an affecting, impressive — nay, most solemn 
and almost sacred feeling, is impressed on the sovereign reason 
of the immortality of the brute creatures, — a doctrine that 
visits us at those times only when our own being breathes in 
the awe of divining thought, and disentangling her wings 
from all clay encumbrances, is strong in the consciousness of 
her Deathless Me — so Fichte and Schelling speak — 

Shepherd. AVeel, sir, you see, doun cam on my " deathless 
ME " the Bonassus, head cavin, tail-tuft on high, hinder legs 
visible ower his neck and shouthers, and his hump clothed in 
thuiidtr, 1 iider in his ae single sel than a wheeling charge 
o' a haill regiment o' dragoon cavalry on the Portobello sands, 
— doun cam the Bonassus, I say, like the Horse Life Guards 
takin a park o' French artilleiy at Waterloo, richt doun, 
Heaven hae mercy 1 upon me, his ain kind maister, wha had 
fed him on turnips, hay and straw ever sin Lammas, till 
the monster was as fat's he could lie in the hide o' him — and 
naething had I to defend* mj-sel wi' but that silly coo's horn. 
A' the collies were at hame. Yet in my fricht — deadly as it 
w as — 1 was thankfu' wee Jamie wasna there lookin for prim- 
roses — for he micht hae lost his judgment. You understand, 
the Bonassus had mista'en my B sharp for anither Bonassus 
challengin him to single combat.* 

English Opium-Eater. A very plausible theory. 

Sliepiherel. Thank you, sir, for that commentary on ma text 

* The naturalization of the Bonassus in Ettrick is described at page 
180. 



With the Bonassus. 331 

— ^for it has gien me time to plouter amang the chouks * o* 
the cod. Faith, it was nae theory, sir, it was practice — and 
afore I could fin' my feet, he was sae close upon me that I 
could see up his nostrils. Just at that moment I remembered 
that I had on an auld red jacket — the ane that was ance sky- 
blue, you ken, Mr. North, that I had gotten dyed — and that 
made the Bonassus just an evendoun Bedlamite. For amaist 
a' horned cattle hate and abhor red coats. 

North. So I have heard the army say- — alike in town and 
country. 

Shepherd. What was to be done ! I thocht o' tootin the 
horn as the trumpeter did when run aff wi' in the mouth o' a 
teegger ; but then I recollected that it was a' the horn's blame 
that the Bonassus was there — so I lost nae time in that specu- 
lation, but slipping aff my breeks, jackets, waistcoat, shirt, 
and a', just as you've seen an actor on the stage, I appeared, 
suddenly before him as naked as the day I was born — and sic 
is the awe, sir, wi' which a human being, in puris naturalibus, 
inspires the maddest of the brute creation (I had tried it ance 
before on a mastiff), that he was a' at ance, in a single mo- 
ment, stricken o' a heap, just the very same as if the butcher 
had sank the head o' an aix intil his harn-pan — his knees 
trummled like a new-dropped lamb's — his tail, tuft and a' 
had nae mair power in't than a broken thrissle-stalk — ^his een 
goggled instead o' glowered — Si heartfelt difference, I assure 
you— 

English Opium Eater. It seems to be, Mr. Hogg — but you 
will pardon me if I am mistaken — a distinction without a 
difference, as the logicians say — 

Shepherd. Ay, De Quinshy, ma man — logician as you are, 
had you stood in my shoon, you had gotten yoursel on baitb 
horns o' the dilemma. 

* CAom/v-s— jaws. 



332 The Flight to Moffat. 

North. Did you cut off his retreat to the Loch, James, and 
take him prisoner ? 

Shepherd. I did. Poor silly sumph ! I canna help thinkin 
that he swarfed ; though perhaps he was only pretendin — so 
I mounted him, and. putting my worsted garters through his 
nose — it had been bored when he was a wild beast in a cara- 
van — I keepit peggin his ribs wi' my heels, till, after gruntin. 
and grainin,* and raisin his great big unwieldy red bouk t 
half frae up the earth, and then swelterin doun again, if ance, 
at least a dizzen times, till I began absolutely to weary o' my 
situation in life, he feenally recovered his cloots,$ and, as if 
inspired wi' a new speerit, aff like lichtnin to the mountains. 

North. What ! — without a saddle, James ? You must have 
felt the loss — I mean the want, of leather — 

Shepherd. We ride a' mainner o' animals bare-backed in 
the Forest, sir. I hae seen a bairn, no aboon fowre year auld, 
ridin hame the Bill at the gloamin — a' the kye at his tail, 
like a squadron o' cavalry anint Joachim Marat, King o' 
Naples — Mr. North, gin ye keep eatin sae vorawciously at the 
sawmoTi, you'll hurt yoursel. Fish is heavy. Dinna spare 
the vinegar, if you will be a glutton. 

North. Ma ! § 

Shepherd. But, as I was sayin, awa went tlie-Bonassus due 
west. Though you could hardly ca't even a suafHe, yet I soon 
found that I had a strong purchase, and bore him doun frae 
the heights to the turnpike road that cuts the kintra frae 
Selkirk to Moffat. There does I encounter three jrisfu's o' 
gentlemen and leddies ; and ane o' the latter — a bonny cretur 
— leuch as if she kent me, as I gaed by at full gallop — and I 
remembered ha'in seen her afore, though where I couldufi 

* Grainin — groaning. t Bouk — bulk. J Cloofs—teet. 

§ ^' 3Ia .' " Nortli is too intent upon eating to return an articulate 
answer. 



The Flight to Moffat. 33B 

tell ; but a' the lave shrieked as if at the visible superstition 
o' the Water-Kelpie on the Water-Horse mistakin day for 
nicht in the delirium o' a fever — and thinkin that it had been 
the moon shining down on his green pastures aneath the 
Loch, when it was but the shadow o' a lurid cloud. But I 
soon vanished into distance. 

Tichler. Where the deuce Vv'-ere your clothes all this time, 
my dear matter-of-fact Shepherd ? 

Shepherd. Ay — there was the rub. In the enthusiasm of 
the moment I had forgotten them — nay, such was the state of 
excitement to which I had worked myself up, that, till I met 
the three gigfu's o' leddies and gentlemen — a marriage party 
— full in the face, I was not, Mr. De Quinshy, aware of being 
80 like the Truth. Then I felt, all in a moment, that I was a 
Mazeppa. But had I turned back, they would have supposed 
that I had intended to accompany them to Selkirk; and 
therefore, to allay all such fears, I made a show o' fleein far 
awa aff into the interior — into the cloudland of Loch Skene 
and the Grey Mare's Tail. 

English Opium-Eater. Your adventure, Mr. Hogg, woflld fur- 
nish a much better subject for the painter, or for the poet, 
than the Mazejopa of Byron. For it is not possible to avoid 
feeling, that in the image of a naked man on horseback, there 
is an involution of the grotesque in the picturesque — of the 
truly ludicrous in the falsely sublime. But, further, the 
thought of bonds — whether of cordage or of leather — on a 
being naturally free is degrading to the moral, intellectual, 
and physical dignity of the creature so constricted ; and it 
ought ever to be the grand aim of poetry to elevate and 
exalt. Moreover, Mazeppa, in being subjected to the scornful 
gaze of hundreds — nay, haply of thousands of spectators — 
the base retinue of a barbarous power — in a state of utter- 
most nudity, was subjected to an ordeal of shame and rage, 



334 The English Opium-Eater. 

which neither the contemplative nor imaginative mind couU 
brook to see applied to even the veriest outcast scum ol our 
race. He was, in fact, placed naked in a moving pillory — 
and the hissing shower of scornful curses by which he was by 
those barbarians assailed, is as insupportable to our thoughts 
as an irregular volley, or street-firing of rotten eggs, dis- 
charged hj the hooting rabble against some miscreant stand- 
ing with his face through a hole in the wood, with his crime 
.placarded on his felon breast. True, that as Mazeppa 
" recoils into the wilderness," the exposure is less repulsive 
to common imagination ; but it is not to common imagination 
that the highest poetry is addressed ; and, therefore, though 
to the fit reader there be indeed some relief or release from 
shame in the " deserts idle," yet doth not the feeling of 
degradation so subside as to be merged in that pleasurable 
state of the soul essential to the effect of the true and legiti- 
mate exercise of poetical power. Shame pursues him faster 
than the wolves ; nor doth the umbrage of the forest-trees, 
that fly past him in his flight, hide his nakedness, which, in 
some ©ther conditions, being an attribute of his nature, might 
even be the source to him and to us of a high emotion, but 
which here, being forcibly and violently imposed against his 
will be the will of a brutal tyrant, is but an accident of his 
position in space and time, and therefore unfit to be perma- 
nently contemplated in a creature let loose before the Imagi- 
native Faculty. Nor is this vital vice — so let me call it — in 
anywise cured or alleviated by^his subsequent triumph, when 
he returns — as he himself tells us he did — at the head of 
" twice ten thousand horse ! " — for the contrast only serves to 
deepen and darken the original nudity of his intolerable doom. 
The mother-naked man still seems to be riding in front of all 
his cavalry ; nor, in this ease, has the poet's art sufficed to 
reinstate him in his pristine dignity, and to efface all remem- 



Analyses the Adventure. 335 

brance of the degrading process of stripping and of binding, 
to which of yore the miserable Nude had been compelled to 
yield, as helpless as an angry child ignominiously whipt by a 
nurse, till its mental sufferings may be said to he lost in its 
physical agonies. Think not that I wish to withhold from 
Byron the praise of considerable spirit -and vigor of execu- 
tion in his narrative of the race ; but that praise may duly 
belong to very inferior powers, and I am now speaking 
of Mazeppa in the light of a great Poem. A great Poem it 
assuredly is not ; and how small a Poem it assuredly is, must 
be felt by all who have read, and are worthy to read, Homer's 
description of the dragging, and driving, and whirling of the 
dead body of Hector in bloody nakedness behind the chariot 
wheels of Achilles. 

Shepherd. I never heard onything like that in a' my days. 
Weel, then, sir, there were nae wolves to chase me and the 
Bonassus, nor yet mony trees to overshadow us ; but we made 
the cattle and the sheep look about them, and mair nor ae 
hooded craw and lang-necked heron gat a fricht, as wd^ came 
suddenly on him through the mist, and gaed thundering by 
the cataracts. In an hour or twa I began to get as firm on 
my seat as a Centaur ; and discovered by the chasms that the 
Bonassus was not only as fleet as a racer, but that he could 
loup like a hunter, and thocht nae mair o' a thirty-feet spang 
than ye wad. think o' stepping across the gutter. Ma faith, 
we werena lang o' being in Moffat ! 

English Opium-Eater. In your Flight, Mr. rfogg, there 
were visibly and audibly concentrated all the attributes of the 
highest Poetry. First, freedom of the will ; for self-impelled 
you ascended the animal. Secondly, the impulse, though 
immediately consequent upon, and proceeding from, one of 
fear, was yet an impulse of courage ; and courage is not only a 
virtue, and acknowledged to be such in all Christain countries. 



336 TJte Analysis is continued. 

but among the Romans — who assuredly, however low they 
must be ranked on the intellectual scale, were nevertheless 
morally a brave people — to it alone was given the name virtus. 
Thirdly, though you were during your whole flight so far 
passive that you yielded to the volition of the creature 
yet were you likewise, during your whole course, so far 
active, that you guided, as it appears, the motions which it 
was beyond your power entirely to control ; thus vindicating 
in your own person the rights of the superior order of crea- 
tion. Fourthly, you were not so subjugated by the passion 
peculiar and appropriate to your situation, as to be insensible 
to or regardless of the courtesies, the amenities, and the 
humanities of civilised life — as witness that glance of mutual 
recognition that passed in one moment, between you and the 
"bonny creature" in the gig; nor yet to be inattentive to 
the effect produced by yourself and the Bonassus on various 
tribes of the inferior creatures, — cattle, sheep, crows, and 
herons, to say nothing of the poetical delight experienced by 
you from the influence of the beautiful or august shows of 
nature, — mists, clouds, cataracts, and the eternal mountains. 
Fifthly, the constantly accompanying sense of danger inter- 
fused with that of safety, so as to constitute one complex 
emotion, under which, hurried as you were, it may be said 
with perfect truth that you found leisure to admire, nay, even 
to wonder at, the strange speed of that most extraordinary 
animal — and most extraordinary he must be, if the only 
living representative of his species since the days of Aristotle 
— nor less to admire and wonder at your own skill, equally, 
if not more, miraculous, and well entitled to throw into the 
shade of oblivion the art of the most illustrious equestrian 
that ever " witched the world with noble horsemanship.'' 
Sixthly, the sublime feeling of penetrating, like a thunderbolt, 
cloud-land and all the mist cities that es^anished as you 



The Feroratioii. 337 

galloped into their suburbs, gradually giving way to a feeling 
no less sublime, of having left behind all those unsubstantial 
phantom-regions, and of nearing the habitation or tabernacle 
of men, known by the name of Moffat — perhaps one of the 
most imaojinative of all the successive series of states of 
your soul since first you appeared among the hills, like Sol 
entering Taurus. And, finally, the deep trance of home-felt 
delight that must have fallen upon your sjDirit — true still to 
all the sweetest and most sacred of all the social affections — • 
when, the Grey Mare's Tail left streaming far behind that of 
the Bonassus, you knew from the murmur of that silver 
stream that your flight was about to cease — till, lo ! the pretty 
Tillage of which you spoke, embosomed in hills and trees — 
the sign of the White Lion, perad venture, motionless in the 
airless calm — a snug parlor with a blazing ingle — ^re-ap- 
parelling instant, almost as thought — food both for man and 
beast — ^for the Ettrick Shepherd — pardon my familiarity for 
sake of friendship — and his Bonassus. Yea, from goal to 
goal, the entire Flight is Poetry, and the original idea of 
nakedness is lost — or say rather veiled — ^in the halo-light of 
imagination. 

Shepherd. Weel, if it's no provokin, Mr. De Quinshy, to 
hear you, who never was on a Bonassus a' your days, ana- 
leezin, wi' the maist comprehensive and acute philosophical 
accuracy, ma complex emotion during the Flight to Moffat 
far better than I could do mysel — 

North. Your genius, James, is synthetical. 
Shepherd. Synthetical ? I howp no — at least nae mair sae 
than the genius o' Burns or Allan Kinninghame— or the lave 
— ^for — 

English Opium-Eater. What is the precise Era of the Flight 
to Moffat ? 

Shepherd. Mr. De Quinshy, you're like a' ither great 



338 Tlie Bonassus is dismissed. 

pliilosophers, ane o' the maist credulous o' mankind ! You 
wad believe me were I to say that I had ridden a whale 
up the Yarrow frae Newark to Eltrive ! the haill story's a 
lee! and sa free o' ony foundation in truth, that I wad hae 
nae objections to tak my Bible-oath that sic a beast as a 
Bonassus never was creawted — and it's lucky for him that 
he never was, for, seeing that he's said to consume three 
bushel o' ingans to denner every day o' bis life, Noah wad 
never hae letten him intil the Ark, and he wad hae been 
fund, after the subsidin o' the waters, a skeleton on the tap 
o' Mount Ararat. 

English Opium-Eater. His non-existence in nature is alto- 
gether distinct from his existence in the imagination of the 
poet — and, in good truth, redounds to his honor — for his 
character must be viewed in the light of a pure Ens rationis 
— or say rather — 

Shepherd. Just let him be an Ens rationis. But confess at 
the same time, that you was bammed, sir. 

English Opium-Eater. I recognize the legitimate colloquial 
use of the word Bam, Mr. Hogg, denoting, I believe, " the 
willing surrendering of belief, one of the first principles of 
our mental constitution, to any statement made with 
apparent sincerity, but real deceit, by a mind not pre- 
viously suspected to exist in a perpetual atmosphere of 
falsehood." 

Shepherd. Just sae, sir, — that's a Bam. In Glasgow they 
ca't a ggeg. — But what's the matter wi' Mr. North ? Saw ye 
ever the cretur lookin sae gash ? ^ I wish he mayna be in a 
fit o' apoplexy. Speak till him, Mr. De Quinshy, 

Ehglish Opium-Eater. His countenance is, indeed, omin- 
ously sable, — but 'tis most unlikely that apoplexy should 
strike a person of his spare habit. Nay, I must sit cor- 

* Gash — sagacious : here, in tlie sense of " solemn." 



A Fit of Apoplexy. 339 

rected ; for I believe that attacks of this kind have, 
within the last quarter of a century, become comparatively 
frequent, and constitute one of the not least perplexing 
phenomena submitted to the inquisition of Modern Medical 
Science. — Mr. North, will you relieve "our anxiety ? 

Shepherd (starting up, and jiying to Mr. North). His face 
a' purple. Confoun' that cravat ! — for the mair you pu' at 
it, the tichter it growsi 

English Opium-Eater. Mr. Hogg, I would seriously and 
earnestly recommend more delicacy and gentleness. 

Shepherd. Tuts. It's fastened I declare, ahifit wi' a gold 
buckle, and afore wi' a gold preen, — a brotch frae Mrs. 
Gentle, in the shape o' a bleedin heart ! 'Twill be the death* 
o' him'. — Oh ! puir fallow, puir fallow ! — rax"^ me ower that 
knife. What's this ? You've given me the silver fish-knife, 
Mr. De Quinshy. Na, — that's far waur, Mr. Tickler. — That 
swurd for carvin the round. But here's my ain jockteleg-t 
Shepherd unclasps his pocket-knife , — and while brandish- 
ing in great trepidation, Mr. North opens his eyes. 

North. Emond ! Emond ! Emond ! — Thurtell — Thurtell— 
Thurtellll: 

Shepherd. A drap o' bluid's on his brain, — and Reason 
becomes Raving ! What's man ? 

Tickler. Cut away, James. Not a moment to be lost. Be 
firm and decided, else he is a dead heathen. 

Shepherd. Wae's me — wae's me ! Nae goshawk ever sae 
glowered, — and only look at his puir fingers hoo they are 
workin ! I canna thole the sicht, — I'm as weak's a wean, 
and fear that I'm gaun to fent. Tak the knife, Tickler. 
Oh, look at his hauns — look at his hauns ! 

* Rax — reach, t JocTcteleg — a fpldiiig-kmfe. 

% Robert Emond was tried in Ediuburgli on the Sth" of February, and 
executed on the 17th of March 1830, for the murder of Katheriue Franks 
and her daughter Madeline, in their house at Abbey, near Haddington. 



340 The Pike's Bach-hone 

Tickler (bending over Mr. North). Yes, yes, my dear sir — I 
comprehend you — I — 

Shepherd (in anger and astonishment). Mr. Tickler, are you 
mad ? — ^fingerin your fingers in that gate, — ^as if you were 
mockin him ! 

English Opium-Eater. They are conversing, Mr. Hogg, in 
that language which originated in Oriental — 

Shepherd. Oh ! they're speakin on their fingers ? — Then 
a's richt, — and Mr. North's comin roun' again intil his seven 
senses. It's been but a dwawm ! 

Tickler. Mr. North has just contrived to communicate to 
me, gentlemen, the somew^hat alarming intelligence that the 
• back-bone of the pike has for some time past been sticking 
about half-way down his throat ; that, being unwilling to 
interrupt the conviviality of the company, he endeavored 
at first to conceal the circumstance, and then made the most 
strenuous efforts to dislodge it, upwards or downwards, with- 
out avail ; but that you must not allow yourselves to fall 
into any extravagant consternation, as he indulges the fond 
hope that it may be extracted, even without professional 
assistance, by Mr. De Quinshy, who has an exceedingly neat 
small Byronish hand, and on whose decision of character he 
places the most unfaltering reliance. 

Shepherd (in a huff). Does he ! — Very weel — sin he for- 
gets auld freens — let him do sae — 

North. Ohrr Hogrwhu — chru — u — u — u — Hogru- 
whuu — 

Shepherd. Na ! I canna resist sic pleadin eloquence as 
that — here's the screw, let me try it. — Or what think ye, 
Mr. Tickler, — what think ye, Mr. De Quinshy, — o' thir pair 
o' boot-hooks ? — Gin I could get a cleek o' the bane by ane 
o' the vertebrae, I might hoise it gently up, by slavr degrees, 
sae that ane could get at it wi' their fingers, and then pu' it 



In Mr. North's Throat. 341 

out o' his mouth in a twiiiklin ! But first let me look doun 

his throat. — Open your mouth, my dearest sir. 

[Mr. North leans hack his Jiead, and opens his mouth. 
Shepherd. I see't like a harrow. Kin ben baith o' ye, for 

Mr. Awmrose. [Tickler andMr. De Quincey ohey. 

Weel ackit, sir — weel ackit— I was taen in mysel at first, 

for your cheeks were like coals. Here's the back-bane o' the 

pike on the trencher — I'll — 
(Re-enter Tickler and Opium-Eater, luith Mr. Ambrose, 

pale as death?) 

It's all over, gentlemen. — It's all over ! 
Ambrose. Oh ! oh ! oh ! 

[Faints away into Tickler's arms. 
Shepherd. What the deevil's the matter wi' you, you set b' 

fules ? — I've gotten out the bane.— ^Look here at the skeleton 

o' the shark ! 

Mnglish Opium-Eater. Monstrous ! 

North (running to the assistance of Mr. Ambrose). We 

have sported too far, I fear, with his sensibilities. 

English Opium-Eater. A similar case of a fish-bone in 

Germany — 

Shepherd. Mr. De Quinshy, can you really swallow that ? 
\_Loohing at the piJce-iack, ahout two feet long. 

But the hour has nearly expired. 

[The I<eanders play''' Hey, Johnnie Cope, are yon wauken 
yet ? " — Mr. Ambrose starts to his feet, runs off and re- 
appears almost instanter at the head of the forces. 



342 



Iliuigiirs naethlng till Thrust' 

THIRD COURSE-FLESH. 
TICKLER. 




ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER. 

Shepherd [m continuation). And do you really think, ]Mr. 
North, that the kintra's in great and general distress, and a' 
orders in a state o' absolute starvation ? 

North. Yes — James — although the Duke * cannot see the 
sufferings of his subjects, I can — and — 

Shepherd. Certain appearances do indicate national dis- 
tress ; yet I think I could, withouten meikle difficulty, lay 
my haun the noo on ithers that seem to lead to a different 
conclusion. 

North. No sophistry, James. 

Shepherd. Hunger's naething till Thrust. Ance in the 
middle o' the muir o' Rannoch I had neer dee'd o' thrust. 
1 was crossing frae Loch Ericht fit f to the held o'Glenorchy, 
and got in amang the hags, -t that for leagues "and leagues a' 
round that disrnal region seem howked out o' tlie black moss 
by demons doomed to dreary days-dargs § for their sins in 
the wilderness. There was naething for't but loup — loup — • 
loupin out o' ae pit intil anither — hour after hour — till, sail 

* The Duke of "Wellington. He was at this time Prime Minister. 

1 Fit — foot. + Hags — pits whence peat has been dug. 

§ Days-darg.i — day's laborF. 



Lost 171 RannocJi. 343 

forfeuchen,* I feeiially gied mysel up for lost. Drought had 
sooked up the pools, and left their cracked bottoms barkeued f 
in the heat. The heather was sliddery as ice, aneath that 
torrid zone. Sic a sun ! No ae clud on a' the sky glitterin 
wi' wirewoven sultriness ! The howe o' the lift % was like a 
great cawdron pabblin into the boil ower a slow fire. The 
element of water seemed dried up out o' natur, a' except the 
big drops o' sweat that plashed doun on my fevered hauns, 
that began to trummle like leaves o' aspen. My mouth was 
made o' cork covered wi' dust — lips, tongue, palate, and a', 
doun till my throat and stammack. I spak — and the arid 
soun' was as if a buried corpse had tried to mutter through 
the smotherin mools. I thocht on the tongue of a parrot. 
The central lands o' Africa, whare lions gang ragin mad for 
water, when cheated out o' blood, canna be worse — dreamed 
I in a species o' delirium — than this dungeon'd desert. Oh ! 
but a drap o' dew would hae seem'd then pregnant wi' salva- 
tion ! — a shower out o' the windows o' heaven, like the direct 
gifto' God, Rain! Rain! Rain! — what a world o' life in 
that sma' word ! But the atmosphere look'd as if it would 
never melt mair, intrenched against a' liquidity by brazen 
barriers burnin in the sun. Spittle I had nane — and when in 
desperation I sooked the heather, 'twas frush and fushionless, 
as if withered by lichtnin, and a' sap had left the vegetable 
creation. What'n a cursed fule was I — ^for in rage I fear I 
swore inwardly (Heev'n forgie me) — that I didna at the last 
change-house put into my pouch a bottle o' whisky ! I fan' 
my pulse — and it was thin^ — thin — thin — sma'— sma' — sma' 
— noo nane ava— and then a flutter that telt tales o' the 
exhausted heart. I grat.§ Then shame came to my relief — 
shame even in that utter solitude. Somewhere or ither m 



* Forfeuchen—fQ,t\gViQdi. t ^orfeewetf— hardened, 

t Howe o' the lift— 'hoWoyf of the sky. § Grat—WQ^t. 



344 The Delirium of Thirst. 

the muir I knew there was a loch, and I took out my map. 
But the infernal idiwut that had planned it hadna allooed a 
yellow circle o' aboon six inches square for a' Perthshire. 
What's become o' a' the birds — thocht I — and the bees — and 
the butterflees — and the dragons ? — A' wattin their bills and 
their proboscisces in far-off rills, and rivers, and lochs ! 
blessed wild-dyucks, plouterin in the water, streekin theirsels 
up, and flappin their flashin plumage in the pearly freshness ! 
A great big speeder, wi' a bag-belly, was rinnin up my leg, 
and I crushed it in my fierceness — the first inseck I ever 
wantonly murdered sin' I was a wean. I kenna whether at 
last I swarf ed or slept — but for certain sure I had a dream. 
I dreamt that I was at hame — and that a tub o' whey was 
staunin on the^kitchen dresser. I dook'd my head intil't, 
and sooked it dry to the wood. Yet it slokened * not ray 
thrust, but aggravated a thousand-fauld the torment o' my 
greed, A thunder-plump or waterspout brak amang the hills 
— and in an instant a' the burns were on spate ; the Yarrow 
roarin red, and foaming as it were mad, — and I thocht I 
could hae drucken up a' its linns. 'Twas a brain fever, ye 
see, sirs, that had stricken me — a sair stroke — and I was con- 
scious again o' lying broad awake in the desert, wi' my face up 
to the cruel sky. I was the verra personification o' Thrust ! 
— and felt that I was ane o' the Damned Dry, doom'd for his 
sins to leeve beyond the reign o' the element to a' Eternity. 
Suddenly, like a man shot in battle, I bounded up into the 
air — and ran off in the convulsive energy o' dying natur — till 
doun I fell — -and felt that I was about indeed to expire. A 
sweet, saft, celestial greenness cooled my cheek as I lay, and 
my burnin een — and then a gleam o' something like a mighty 
diamond — a gleam that seemed to comprehend within itsel 
the haill universe — shone in upon and through my being — I 

* Slolencd — quenched. 



A Robin's Nest. 345 

gazed upon't wi' a' my senses. Mercifu' Heaven ! what 
was't but — a Well in the wilderness ! — water — water — 
water,— and as I drank — I prayed I 

Omnes. Bravo — bravo — bravo ! Hurra — ^hurra — 
hurra ! 

Shepherd. Analeeze that, Mr. De Quinshy. 

English Opium-Eater. Inspiration admits not of analysis — 
in itself ^n evolvement of an infinite series — 

Shepherd. Isna the Dolphin rather ower sweet, sirs ? We 
maun mak haste and drain him — and neist brewst, Mrs. 
Awmrose maun be less lavish o' her sugar — for her finest 
crystals are the verra concentrated essence o' saccharine 
sweetness, twa lumps to the mutchkin. 

English Opium-Eater. Mr. Hogg, that wallflower in your 
button-hole is intensely beautiful, and its faint wild scent 
mingles delightfully with the fragrance of the coffee — 

Shepherd. And o' the toddy — ae blended bawm. I pu'd it 
aff ane o' the auld towers o' Newark, this morning, frae a 
constellation o' starry blossoms, that m' nicht lang had been 
drinkin the dews, and at the dawin could hardly baud up 
their heads, sae laden was the haill bricht bunch wi' the 
pearlins o' heaven. And v/ould ye believe't, a bit robin- 
redbreast had bigged its nest in a cozy cranny o' the moss 
wa', ahint the wallflower, a perfect paradise to brood and 
breed in, — out flew the dear wee beastie wi' a flutter in my 
face, and every mouth opened as I keeked in — and then a' 
was hushed again — ^just like my ain bairnies in ae bed at 
hame-=^no up yet — for the hours were slawly intrudin on the 
" innocent brichtness o' the new-born day ; " and it was, 
guessing by the shadowless light on the tower and trees, 
only about four o'clock in the mornin. 

Tickler. I was just then going to bed. 

Shepherd. Teetus Vespawsian used to say sometimes : ^' I 



346 



" G-gemm and FooU ! " 



have lost a day" — but the sluggard loses a' his life, and lets 
It slip through his hauns like a knotless thread. 

English Opium-Eater. I am no sluggard, Mr. Hogg — yet I — 
Shepherd. Change nicht into day, and day into nicht, 
rinnin coonter to natur, insultin the sun, and quarrellin wi' 
the equawtor. That's no richt. Nae man kens what Beau- 
ty is that hasna seen her a thousan' and a thousan' times lyin 
on the lap o' nature, asleep in the dawn — on an earthly bed 

a spirit maist divine. . . . Whisht, I heard a fisslin in the 
gallery ! 

North. Leander ! 

{The horns sound, and enter ol Tcepi Ambrose.) 

Shepherd ( in continuation). Ggemm ! and Fools ! 

FOURTH COURSE— FOWm 
TICKLEB. 






\ w 


^ 




■s 


W 


1=1 


/ t^ 


H 


/ ^ 




/ o 



ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER. 



North, (in continuation). The Greek Tragedy, James, was 
austere in its principles as the Greek Sculpture. Its sub- 
jects were all of ancestral and religious consecration ; its 
style, hig^, and heroic, and divine, admitted no inter- 
mixture even of mirth, or seldom and reluctantly, — much Jess 



Sophocles and Shakespeare. 347 

of grotesque and fantastic extravagances of humor, — 
which would have marred the consummate dignity, beauty, 
and magnificence of all the scenes that swept along that 
enchanted floor. Such was the spirit that shone on the 
soft and the stately Sophocles. But Shakespeare came 
from heaven — and along with him a Tragedy that poured 
into one cup the tears of mirth and madness ; showed 
Kings one day crowned with jewelled diadems, and another 
day with wild wisps of straw; taught the Prince who, in 
singlo combat — 

" Had quencli'd the flame of hot rebellion 
Even in the rebels' blood," 

to moralize on the field of battle over the carcase of a fat 
buffoon wittily simulating death among the bloody corpses of 
English nobles ; nay, showed the son — and that son, prince, 
philosopher, paragon of men — jocularly conjuring to rest his 
Father's Ghost, who had revisited earth " by the glimpses of 
the moon, making night hideous." 

Shepherd. Stop — stop, sir. That's aneuch to prove your 
pint. . . . And sae your auld freen's dead. — What kirkyard 
was he buried in ? 

North. Greyfriars. 

Shepherd. An impressive place. Huge, auld, red, gloomy 
church — a countless multitude 'o grass graves a' touchin ane 
anither — a' roun the kirkyard wa's marble and freestane 
monuments without end, o' a' shapes, and sizes, and ages — 
some quaint, some queer, some simple, some ornate ; for 
genius likes to work upon grief — and these tombs are like 
towers and temples, partakin not o' the noise o' the city, but 
staunin aloof frae the stir o' life, aneath the sombre shadow 
o' the Castle cliff, that heaves its battlements far up into .the 
sky. A sublime cemetery — yet I sudna like to be interred 
in't — it looks sae dank, clammy, cauld — 



B j:^ By the Sea-shore. 

Tickler. And uncomfortable. A corpse would be apt to 
catch its death of cold. 

Shepherd. Whisht. — Where did he leeve ^ 

North. On the sea-shore. 

Shepherd. I couldna thole to leeve on the sea-shore. 

Tickler. And pray why not, James ? 

Shepherd. That everlastin thunner sae disturbs my imagi- . 
nation, that my soul has nae rest in its aih solitude, but 
becomes transfused as it were into the michty ocean, a' its 
thochts as wild as the waves that keep foamin awa into 
naething, and then breakin back again into transitory life— 
for ever and ever and ever — as if neither in sunshine nor 
moonlight, that multitudinous tumultuousness, frae the first 
creation o' the world, had ever ance been stilled in the 
blessedness o' perfect sleep. 

English Opium-Eater. In the turmoil of this our mortal lot, 
the soul's deepest bliss assuredly is, O Shepherd ! a tideless 
calm. 

Shepherd, The verra thocht, sir — the verra feelin — the 
verra word. 

North. What pleasanter spot, James, than a country kirk- 
yard? 

Shepherd. I steek my een — and I see ane the noo — in a 
green laigh lown spot amang the sheep-nibbled braes. A 
Funeral ! See that row of schoolboy laddies and lassies drawn 
up sae orderly o' their ain still accord, half curious and half 
wae,* some o' the lassies wi' lapfu's o' primroses, and gazin 
wi' hushed faces as the wee coffin enters in on men's 
shouthers that never feel its wecht, wi' its doun-hangin and 
gracefu' velvet pall, though she that is hidden therein was 
the poorest o' the poor ! Twa-three days ago the body in 
that coffin was dancin like a sunbeam ower the verra sods 
that are noo about to be shovelled over it ! The flowers she 

* Frtte— sorrowful. 



A Funeral in the O-len. 849 

had been gatherin — sweet, innocent, thochtless cretur — then 
moved up and doun on her bosom when she breathed — ^for 
she and nature were blest and beautifu' in their spring. An 
auld white-headed man, bent sairly doun, at the head o' the 
grave, lettin the white cord slip wi' a lingerin, reluctant 
tenderness through his withered hauns ! It has reached the 
bottom. Wasna that a dreadfu' groan, driven out o' his 
heart, as if a strong-haun'd man had smote it by the first fa' 
o' the clayey thunder on the fast-disappearing blackness o' 
the velvet — soon hidden in the bony mould ? He's but her 
grandfather — for she was an orphan. But her grandfather ! 
Wae's me ! wha is't that writes in some silly blin' book that 
auld age is insensible — safe and secure f rae sorrow — ^and that 
dim eyes are unapproachable to tears ? 

Tickler. Not till dotage drivels away into death. With 
hoariest eld often is parental love a passion deeper than ever 
bowed the soul of bright-haired youth, watching by the first 
dawn of daylight the face of the sleeping bride. 

Shepherd. What gars us a' fowre talk on such topics the 
nicht ? Friendship ! That, when sincere — as ours is sincere 
— will sometimes saften wi' a strange sympathy merriest 
hearts into ae mood o' melancholy, and pitch a' their voices 
on ae key, and gie a' their faces ae expression, and mak them 
a' feel mair profoundly, because they a' feel thegither, the 
sadness and the sanctity — different words for the same mean- 
ing — o' this our mortal life ; — I howp there's naething the 
maitter wi' wee Jamie. 

North. That there is not, indeed, my dearest Shepherd. 
At this very moment he is singing his little sister asleep. 

Shepherd, God bless you, sir ; the tone o' your voice is like 
a silver trumpet. — Mr. De Quinshy, hae you ever soum'd up 
the number o' your weans?* 

* Weans — cTiildren, 



350 Tit.' English Opium-Eater. 

English Opium-Eater. Seven. 

Shepherd. Stop there, sir, it's a mystical number, — and may 
they aye be like sare mony planets in bliss and beauty circlin 
roun the sun, 

English Opium-Eater. It seemeth strange the time when as 
5^et those Seven Spirits were not in the body — and the air 
which I breathed partook not of that blessedness which now 
to me is my life. Another sun — another moon — other stars 
— since the face of my first-born. Another earth — another 
heaven ! I loved, methought — before that face smiled — the 
lights and the shadows, the flowers and the dews, the rivulets 
that sing to Pilgrims in the wild, — the mountain wells, where 
all alone the " book-bosomed " Pilgrim sitteth down — and lo ! 
fur below the many-rivered vales sweeping each to its own 
lake — ^how dearly did I love ye all ! Yet was that love 
fantastical — and verily not of the deeper soul. Imagination 
over this " visible diurnal sphere " spread out her own 
spiritual qualities, and made the beauty that beamed back 
upon her dreams. Nor wanted tenderest touches of humanity 
— as my heart remembered some living flbwel- by the door of 
far-up cottage, where the river is but a rill. But in my inner 
spirit there was then a dearth, which Providence hath since 
amply, and richly, and prodigally furnished with celestial 
food — which is also music to the ears, and light to the eyes, 
and the essence of silken softness to the touch — a family of 
immortal spirits, who but for me never had been brought into 
tiie mystery of accountable and responsible being ! Of old 
I used to study the Spring — but now its sweet sadness 
steals unawares into my heart— when among the joyous 
lambs I see my own children at play. The shallow nest of 
the cushat seems now to me a more sacred thing in the 
obscurity of the pine-tree. The instincts of all the inferior 
creatures are now holy in nay eyes — for, like Reason's self, 



On Parental Love. 351 

they have their origin in love. Affection for mj own children 
has enabled me to sound the depths of gratitude. Gazing on 
them at their prayers, in their sleep, I have had revelations 
of the nature of peace, and trouble, and innocence, and sin, 
and sorrow, which, till they had smiled and wept, offended 
and been reconciled, I knew not — how could I ? — to be within 
the range of the far-fiying and far-fetching spirit of love, 
which is the life-of-life of all things beneath the sun, moon 
and stars. 

Shepherd. Do ye ken, sir, that I love to hear ye speak far 
best ava when you lay aside your logic ? Grammar's aftena 
grievous and gallin burden ; but logic's a cruel constraint on 
thochts, and the death of feelings, which ought aye to rin 
blendin intil ane anither like the rainbow, or the pink, or the 
peacock's neck, a beautifu' confusion o' colors, that's the 
mair admired the mair ignorant you are o' the science o' 
opticks. I just perfectly abhor the word " therefore," it's sae 
pedantic and pragmatical, and like a doctor. What's the use 
o' jiremises ? — commend me to conclusions. As for inferences, 
put them into the form o' apothegms, and never tell the world 
whence you draw them — for then they look like inspiration. 
And dinna ye think, sir, that reasoning's far inferior to 
intuition ? 

Tickler. How are y<our transplanted trees, James ? 
Shepherd. A' dead. 

Tickler. I can't endure the idea of a transplanted tree. 
Transplantation strikes at the very root of its character as 
a stationary and stedfast being, flourishing where nature 
dropt it. You may remove a seedling ; but 'tis sacrilege 
to hoist up a huge old oak by the power of machinery, 
and stick him into another soil, far aloof from his native 
spot, which for so many years he had sweetly or solemnly 
overshadowed. 



352 Was Sogg's Creel 

Shepherd. Is that feelin no a wee owre imaginative ? 

Tickler. Perhaps it is — and none the worse of that either — • 
for there's a tincture of imagination in all feelings of any pith 
or moment — nor do we require that they should always be 
justified by reason. On looking on a tree with any emotion 
of grandeur or beauty, one always has a dim notion of its 
endurance- — its growth and its decay. The place about it is 
felt to belong to it — or rather, they mutually belong to each 
other, and death alone should*dissolve the union. 

Shepherd. I fin' mysel convincin — that is, being convinced — 
but no by your spoken words, but by my ain silent thochts. 
I felt a' you say, and mair too, the first time I tried to trans- 
plant a tree. It was a birk — a weepin birk — and I had loved 
and admired it for twenty years by its ain pool, far up ane o* 
the grains * o' the Douglas Water, where I beat Mr. North at 
the fishin — 

North. You never beat me at the fishing, sir, and never will 
beat me at the fishing, sir, while your name is Hogg. I killed 
that day — in half the time — -doable the number — • 

Shepherd. But wecht, sir^ — wecht, sir, wecht. My creel 
was mair nor dooble yours's wecht — and every wean kens 
that in fishin for a wager, wecht wins — it's aye decided by 
wecht. 

North. The weight of your basket was not nearly equal to 
mine, you — 

Shepherd. Confound me gin, on an average, ane o' my troots 
didna conteen mair cubic inches than three o' yours — while 
I had a ane to produce that, on his first showin his snoot, I 
could hae swore was a sawmon ; — he would hae filled the 
creel his ain lane — sae I sent him hame wi' a callant I met 
gaun to the school. The feck o' yours was mere fry — and 
some had a' the appearance o' bein' baggy mennons. You're a 

* Grams— branches. The Douglas Water is a tributary of the Yarrow, 



Heavier than NortJi's ? 353 

gran' par-fisher, sir ; but you're naeThorburn * either at troots, 

morts or fish, f 

North (starting up in a fury). I'll fish you for— 
Shepherd. Mr. North ! I am ashamed to see you exposin 

yoursel afore Mr. De Quinshy — besides, thae ragin fits are 

dangerous — and, some time or ither, 'ill bring on apoplexy. 

Oh ! but you're fearsome the noo — black in the face, or rather, 

blue and purple — and a' because I said that you^re nae Thor- 

burn at the fishin. Sit doun — sit doun, sir. 

("Mr. North sits down, and cools and calms himself, while 
the horns sound for the fifth course, " The gloomy nicM 
is gathering fast J' 

* A noted angler on Tweedside. 

t In the language of anglers, salmon alone are called fish. 

23 



XXII. 

TEE BLOODY BATTLE OF THE BEES. 

Scene, — The Arbor, Buchanan Lodge. Time, — Eight o'clock. 
Present. — North, English Opium-Eater, Shepherd, 
and Tickler. Table with light wines, oranges, biscuits, 
almonds, and raisins. 

Shepherd. Rain but no star-proof, this bonny bee-hummin, 
bird-nest-concealin Bower, 'that seems — but for the trellis- 
wark peepin out here and there where the later flowerin- 
shrubs are scarcely yet out o' the bud — rather a production 
o' Nature's sel than o' the gardener's genius. Oh, sir, but in 
its bricht and balmy beauty 'tis even nae less than a perfeck 
Poem ! 

North. Look, James, how she cowers within her couch — 
only the point of her bill, the tip of her tail, visible — so pas- 
sionately cleaveth the loving creature to the nestlings beneath 
her mottled breast, — each morning beautifying from down to 
plumage, till next Sabbath-sun shall stir them out of theii 
cradle, and scatter them, in their first weak wavering flight, 
up and down the dewy dawn of their native Paradise. 

Shepherd. A bit mavis ! * Hushed as a dream — andiike a 
dream to be startled aff intil ether, if you but touch the leaf- 
croon that o'er-canopies her head. What an ee ! Shy, yet 
confidin — as she sits there ready to flee awa wi' a rustle in a 

* Mavis — thrush. 

3r4 



The Nest of a Thrush. 355 

moment yet linked within that rim by the chains o' love, 
motionless as if she were dead ! 

North. See — she stirs ! 

Shepherd. Dinna be disturbed. I could glower at her for 
hours, musin on the mystery o' instinct, and at times for- 
gettin that my een were fixed but on a silly bird, — for sae 
united are a' the affections o' sentient Natur, that you hae 
only to keek * in til a brush o' broom, or a sweet-brier, or doun 
to the green braird aneath your feet, to behold in the Untie, 
or the lark — or in that mavis — God bless her ! — an emblem 
o' the young Christian mother fauldin up in her nursin bosom 
the beauty and the blessedness o' her ain First-born ! 

North. I am now threescore-and-ten, James, and I have 
suffered and enjoyed much ; but I know not if, during all the 
confusion of those many-colored years, diviner delight ever 
possessed my heart and my imagination, than of old entranced 
me in solitude, when, among the braes, and the moors, and the 
woods, I followed the verdant footsteps of the Spring, un com- 
panioned but by my own shadow, and gave names to every 
nook in nature, from the singing birds of Scotland discovered, 
but disturbed not, in their most secret nests. 

Tickler. Namby-pamby ! 

Shepherd. Nae sic thing. A shilf a'sf nest within the angles 
made by the slicht, silvery, satiny stem o' a bit birk-tree, and 
ane o' its young branches glitterin and glimmerin at ance wi' 
shade and sunshine and a dowery o' pearls, is a sicht that, 
when seen for the first time in this life, gars a boy's being 
loup out o' his verra bosom richt up intil the boundless blue 
o' heaven ! 

Tickler. Poo 

Shepherd. Whisht — oh, whisht. For 'tis felt to be something 
far, far beyond the beauty o' the maist artfu' contrivances o' 

* iiee/l'— peep. t ^/tiZ/a— chafflncli. 



o 



56 Sogg the " He^rriery 



mortal man, — and gin he be a thochtfu' callant, which frae 
wanderin and daunderin by himsel, far awa frae houses, and 
ayont the loneliest shielin * amang the hills, is surely nae 
unreasonable hypothesis, but the likeliest thing m natur, 
thinkna.ye that though his mood micht be indistinck even as 
ony sleepin dream, that nevertheless it maun be sensibly 
interfused, throughout and throughout, \vi' the consciousness, 
that that Nest, wi' sic exquisite delicacy intertwined o' some 
substance seemingly mair beautifu' than ony moss that ever 
grew upon this earth, into a finest fabric growin as it were 
out o' the verra bark o' the tree, and in the verra nook, — the 
only nook where nae winds could touch it, let them blaw a' 
at ance frae a' the airts, — wadna, sirs, I say, that callaut's 
heart beat wi' awe in its delicht, feelin that that wee, cosy, 
beautifu' and lovely cradle, chirp-chirpin wi' joyfu' life, was 
bigged there by the hand o' Him that hung the sun in our 
heaven, and studded with stars the boundless universe ? 

Tickler, James, forgive my folly 

Shepherd. That I do, Mr. Tickler — and that I would do, if 
for every peck there was a firlot. Yet when a laddie, I was 
an awfu' herrier! f Sic is the inconsistency, because o' the 
corruption o' human natur. Ilka spring, I used to hae half 
a dozen strings o' eggs 

Tickler. — 

" Orient pearls at random strung.* 

Shepherd. Na — no at random — but a' accordin to an innate 
sense o' the beauty o' the interminglin and interfusin varie- 
gation o' manifold color, which, when a' gathered thegither 
on a yard o' twine, and dependin frae the laigh roof o' our 
bit cottie, aneath the cheese-bauk, and aiblins atween a 
couple o' hangin hams, seemed to ma een sae fu' o' a strange, 

* Shielin— 2l shelter for sheep or shepherd among the hills, 
t Herrier — rifler of hirds' nests. 



Tickle}' the Devourer. 357 

wild, woodland, wonderfu', and maist unwarldish loveliness, 
that the verra rainbow hersel, lauchin on us laddies no to be 
feared at the thunner, looked nae mair celestial than thae 
egg-shells! Ae string especially will I remember till my 
dying day. It tapered awa frae the middle, made o' the 
eggs o' the blackbird — doim through a' possible vareeities 
— lark, lintie, yellow-yite, hedge-sparrow, shilfa, and gold- 
finch — ay, the verra goldfinch hersel, rare bird in the Forest 
— to the twa ends so dewdrap-like, wi' the wee bit blue 
pearlins o' the kitty-wren. Damm WuUie Laidlaw for stealin 
them ae Sabbath when we was a' at the kirk ! Yet I'll try 
to forgie him. for sake o' " Lucy's Elittin," * and because not- 
withstanding that cruel crime, he's turned out a gude husband, 
a gude faither, and a gude freen. 

Tichler. We used, at school, James, to boil and eat them. 

Shepherd. Gin ye did, then wouldna I, for ony considera- 
tion, in a future state be your sowl. 

Tickler. Where's the difference ? 

Shepherd. What 1 at ween you and me ? Yours was a base, 
fleshly hunger, or hatred, or hard-heartedness, or scathe and 
scorn o' the quakin griefs o' the bit bonny shriekin burdies 
around the tuft o' moss, a' that was left o' their berried 
nests ; but mine was the sacred hunger and thirst o' divine 
silver and gold gleamin amang the diamonds drapt by 
mornin on the hedgeraws, and rashes, and the broom, and 
the whins — love o' the lovely — desire conquerin but no killin 
pity — and joy o' blessed possession, that left at times a tear 
on my cheek for the bereavement o' the heart-broken 
warblers o' the woods. Yet brak I not mony o' their 
hearts, after a' ; for if the nest had five eggs, I generally 
took but twa ; though I confess that on gaun back again to 

* " Lucy's Flitting," by William Laidlaw, Sir Walter Scott's friend, is 
one of our simplest and most pathetic melodies. 



358 Tlie Opium-Eater reve7'8es 

brae, bank, bush, or tree, I was glad when the nest was 
deserted, the eggs cauld, and the birds awa to some ither 
place. After a' I was never cruel, sirs ; that's no a sin o' 
mine — and whenever, either then or since, I hae gien pain 
to ony leevin cretur, in nae lang time after, o' the twa 
pairties, mine has been the maist achin heart. As for pyats, 
and hoodie-craws, ^nd the like, I used to herrythem without 
compunction, aLd flingin up stanes, to shoot them wi' a gun 
as they were flasterin out o' the nest. 

English Opium-Eater. Some one of my ancestors — for, even 
with the deepest sense of my own unworthiness, I cannot 
believe that my own sins, as a cause, have been adequate 
to the production of such an effect — must have perpetrated 
some enormous — some monstrous crime, punished in me, his 
descendant, by utter blindness to all birds' nests. 

Shepherd. Maist likely. The De Quinshys cam ower wi' 
the Conqueror, and were great criminals. — But did you ever 
look for them, sir ? 

English Opium-Eater. From the year. 1811 — the year in 
which the Marrs and Williamsons were murdered * — till the 
year 1821, in which Bonaparte the little — vulgarly called 
Napoleon the Great — died of a cancer in his stomach — 

Shepherd. A hereditary disease — accordin to the doctors. 

English Opium-Eater . did I exclusively occupy myself 

during the spring months, from night till morning, in search- 
ing for the habitations of these interesting creatures. 

Shepherd. Frae nicht till mornin ! That comes o' reversin 
the order o' Natur. You micht see a rookery or a heronry by 
moonlicht — but no a wren's nest aneath the portal o' some 
cave, lookin out upon a sleepless waiterf a'- dinnin to the stars. 



* 111 the second volume of liis Miscellanies (1854), Mr. De Quincey has 
described these murders with a power and circumstantiality which excite 
the most absorbing interest in the miud of the reader. 



The Order of Nature. 359 

Mr. De Quinshy, you and me leeves in twa different warlds — 
and yet its wonnerfu' hoo we understaun' ane anither sae 
weel's we do — quite a phenomena. Whfen I'm soopin you're 
breakfastin — when I'm lyin doun, after, your coffee you're 
risin up — as I'm coverin my head wi' the blankets, you're 
pittin on your breeks — as my een are steekin-like sunflowers 
aneath the moon, yours are glowin like twa gas-lamps — 
and while your mind is masterin poleetical economy and 
metapheesics, in a desperate fecht wi' Ricawrdo and Kant,* 
I'm'heard by the nicht-wanderin fairies snorin trumpet-nosed 
through the laud o' Nod. 

English Opium-Eater. Though the revolutions of the hea- 
venly bodies have, I admit, a certain natural connection with 
the ongoings of — 

Shepherd. Wait awee — nane o' your astrology till after 
sooper. It canna be true, sir, what folk say about the 
influence o' the moon on character. I never thocht ye the 
least mad. Indeed, the ovl\j faut I hae to fin' wi' you is, 
that you're ower wise. Yet we speak what, in the lang-run, 
would appear to be ae common language — I sometimes 
understaun' you no that very indistinctly — and when we 
tackle in our talk to the great interests o' humanity, w^'re 
philosophers o' the same school, sir, and see the inner warld 
by the self-same central licht. We're incomprehensible 
creturs, are we men — that's beyond a dout ; — and let us be 
born and bred as we may — black, white, red, or a deep 
bricht, burnished copper — ^in spite o' the division o' tongues, 
there's nae division o' hearts, for it's the same bluid that 



* David Eicardo, an eminent member of the London Stock Exchange, and 
the profoTindest writer on political economy which this country has pro- 
duced, died in 1823. Immanuel Kant was the great philosopher of Kouigs- 
berg, his native town, from which he was never farther distant than tvA^euty 
miles, during the whole course of a life which lasted from 1724 to 1804. 



360 The Opium-Uaters World. 

gangs circulatin through our mortal tenements, carrjing 
alang on its tide the same freightage o' feelins and thochts, 
emotions, affections, and passions — though, like the ships o' 
different nations, they a' hoist their ain colors, and prood, 
prood are they o' their leoj^ards, or their crescent-moons, or 
their stars, or their stripes o' huntin ; — but see! when it 
blaws great guns, hoo they a' fling owerboard their storm- 
anchors, and when their cables pairt, hoo they a' seek the 
'shelterin lee o' the same michty breakwater, a belief in the 
being and attributes of the One Living God. — But was ye 
never out in the daytime, sir ? 

English Opium-Eater. Frequently. 

Shepherd. But then it's sae lang sin' syne, that in memory 
the sunlicht maun seem amaist like the moonlicht, — sic, 
indeed, even wi' us that rise with the laverock, and lie doun 
wi' the lintie, is the saftenin — the shadin — the darkenin 
power o' the Past, o' Time the Prime Minister o' Life, wha, 
in spite o' a' Opposition, carries a' his measures by a silent 
vote, and aften, wi' a weary wecht o' taxes, bows a' the wide 
warld doun to the verra dust. 

English Opium-Eater. In the South my familiars have 
been the nightingales, in the North the owls. Both are merry 
birds — the one singing, and the other shouting, in moods of 
midnight mirth.— Nor in my deepest, darkest fits of medita- 
tion or of melancholy, did the one or the other ever want 
my sympathies, — whether piping at the root of the hedgerow, 
or hooting from the trunk of a sycamore — else all still both 
on earth and in heaven. 

Shepherd. Ye maun hae seen mony a beautifu' and mony a 
sublime sicht, sir, in the Region, lost to folk like us, wha try 
to keep oursels awauk a' da}'' and asleep a' nicht — and your 
sowl, sir, maun hae acquired something o' the serene and 
solemn character o' the sunleft skies. And true it is, Mr. 



The Religious World. 361 

De Quinshy, that ye hae tlie voice o' a nicht-wanderin man 
— laigh and lown — pitched on the key o' a wimplin burn 
speakin to itsel in the silence, aneath the moon and stars. 

Tickler. 'Tis pleasant, James, to hear all us four talking 
at one time — your bass, my counter, Mr. De Quincey's 
tenor, and North's treble — 

North. Treble, indeed ! 

Tickler. Aj, childish treble — 

Shepherd. Come, nae quarrellin yet. That's a quotation 
frae Shakespeare, and there's nae insult in a mere quotation. 
(after a pause.) Oh, man ! if them that's kickin up sic a row 
the noo about the doctrine o' the Christian religion had 
looked intil the depths o' their ain natur w'l' your een, they 
had a' been as mum as mice keekin roun' the end o' a pew, 
in place o' scrauchin like pyats on the leads, or a hoodie wi' a 
sair throat. 

English Opium-Eater. I know not to what you allude, Mr. 
Hogg, for I live out of what is called the Religious World. 

Shepherd. A loud, noisy, vulgar, bawlin, brawlin, wranglin, 
branglin, routin, and roarin warld — maist unfittin indeed for 
the likes o' you, sir, wha, under the shadows o' woods and 
mountains, at midnight, communes wi' your ain heart, and is 
still. 

Eiglish Opium-Eater. No religious controversy in modern 
days, sir, ever seemed to me to reach back into those recesses 
in my spirit where the sources lie frooj which well out the 
bitter or the sweet waters — the sins and the miseries — the 
holinesses.andthe happinesses of our incomprehensible being ! 

Shepherd. And if they ever do, hoo drumly the stream ! 

English Opium-Eater. Better even a mere sentimental re- 
ligion, which, though shallow, is pure, than those audacious 
doctrines broached by Pride-in-Humility, who, blind as the 



362 In a G-rave Mood. 

bat, essays the flight of the eagle, and, ignorant of the low» 
est natures, yet claims acquaintance with the decrees of the 
Most High. 

Shepherd. Ay— better far a sentimental — a poetical reli- 
gion, as you say, sir — though that's far frae being the true 
thing either — for o' a' the Three Blessings o' Man, the last is 
the best — Love, Poetry, and Religion. What'n a book micht 
be written, I've af ten thocht — and aiblins may hae said — on 
thae three words ! 

English Opium-Eater. Yes, my dear James — Beauty, the 
soul of Poetry, is indeed divine — but there is that which is 
diviner still — and that is Duty. 

'* Flowers laugh before her on their beds, 
And fragrance in her footing treads ; 
She doth preserve the stars from wrong, 
And the eternal heavens through her are fresh and strong." 

Shepherd. Wha said that ? 

English Opium-Eater. Who? — Wordsworth. And the 
Edinburgh Revieiv — laughed. 

Shepherd. He has made it, sin' syne, lauch out o' the 
wrang side o' its mouth. He soars. 

North. Human life is always, in its highest moral exhibi- 
tions, sublime rather than beautiful — and the sublimity is 
not that of the imagination, but of the soul. 

Shepherd. If you will alloo a simple shepherd to speak on 
sic a theme — ^ 

North. Yes, my dearest James, you can, if you choose, 
speak on it better than either of us. 

Shepherd. Weel, then, that is the view o' virtue that seems 
maist consistent wi' the revelation o' its true nature by Chris- 
tianity, Isna there, sirs, a perpetual struggle — a ceevil war 
— in ilka man's heart ? This we ken, whenever we have an 
opportunity o' discerning what is gaun on in the hearts o' 



Tlie Religious Sentiment. 3*63 

itiiers, — this we ken, whenever we set ourselves to tak a 
steady gaze intil the secrets o' our ain. We are, then, 
moved — ay, appalled, by much that we behold ; and wherever 
there is sin, there, be assured, will be sorrow. But arena we 
aften cheered, and consoled too, by much that we behold ? 
And wherever there is goodness, our ain heart, as weel's them 
o' the spectators, burns within us ! Ay — it burns within us. 
We feel — we see, that we or our brethren are pairtly as God 
would wish — as we must be afore we can hope to see His face 
in mercy. I've often thocht intil mysel that that feeling is 
ane that we may desecrate (is that the richt word ?) by rank- 
ing it amang them that appertains to our senses and our 
* imagination, rather than to the religious soul. 
North. Mr. De Quincey ! 

English Opium-Eater. Listen. An extraordinary man in- 
deed, sir ! 

Shepherd. No me ; there's naething extraordinar about me, 
mair than about a thousand ither Scottish shepherds. But 
ca' not, I say, the face o' that father beautifu' who stands 
beside the bier o' his only son, and wi' his ain withered hands 
helps to let doun the body into the grave — though all its 
lines, deep as they are, are peacef u' and untroubled,' and the 
grey uncovered head maist reverend and affecting in the sun- 
shine that falls at the same time on the coffin of him who was 
last week the sole stay o' his auld age ! But if you could 
venture in thocht to be wi' that auld man when he is on his 
knees before God, in his lanely room, blessing Him for a' His 
mercies, even for having taken awa the licht o' his eyes, 
extinguished it in a moment, and left a' the house in dark 
ness — you would not then, if you saw into his inner spirit, 
venture to ca' the calm that slept there — beautifu' ! Na, na, 
na ! In it you would feel assurance o' the immortality of the 
Soul— o' the transitoriness o' mere human sorrows — o' the 



364 Sow sorrow is idealized. 

vanity o' a' passion that clings to the claj — o' the power 
which the spirit possesses in richt o' its origin to see God's 
eternal justice in the midst o' sic utter bereavement as might 
well shake its faith in the Invisible— o' a' life where there is 
nae decaying frame to weep over and to bewail ; and sae 
thinking — and sae feelin — ye would behold in that auld man 
kneelin in- your unkent presence, an eemage o' human nature 
by its intensest sufferings raised and reconciled to that f eenal 
state o' obedience, acquiescence, and resignation to the will 
o' the Supreme, which is virtue, morality, piety, in ae word 
— Religion. Ay, the feenal consummation o' mortality 
putting on immortality, o' the soul shedding the slough o' 
its earthly affections, and reappearing amaist in its pristine 
innocence, nae unfit inhabitant o' Heaven. 

Engli8li Opium-Mater. Say not that a thousand Scottish 
shepherds could so speak, my dear sir. 

Shepherd. Ay, and far better, too. But hearken till me, — 
when that state o' mind passed away frae us, and we became 
willing to find relief, as it were, frae thochts sae far aboon 
the level o' them that must be our daily thochts, then we 
micht. and then probably we would, begin to speak, sir, o' the 
beauty o'- the auld man's resignation, and in poetry or paint- 
ing the picture micht be pronounced beautifu', for then our 
souls would hae subsided, and the deeper, the mair solemn, 
and the mair awfu' o' our emotions would o' themselves hae 
retired to rest within the recesses o' the Iveart, alang wi' 
maist o' the maist mysterious o' our moral and religious con- 
victions. — {Dog harks.) Heavens ! I could hae thocht that 
was Bronte! 

North. No bark like his, James, now belongs to the world 

of sound. 

Shepherd. Purple black was he all over, except the star on 
his breast — as the raven's wing. Strength and sagacity 



The Death of Bronte. 3G5 

emboldened liis bounding beauty, and a fierceness lay deep 
down within the quiet lustre o' his een, that tauld ye, even 
when he laid his head upon your knees, and smiled up to your 
face like a verra intellectual and moral cretur, — as he was, — 
that had he been angered, he could hae torn in pieces a 
lion. 

North. Not a child of three years old and upwards, in the 
neighborliood of the Lodge, that had not hung by his mane, 
and played with his fangs, and been affectionately worried by 
him on the flowery greensward. ^ 

Shepherd. Just like a stalwart father gambollin wi' his 
lauchin bairns ! — And yet there was a heart that could bring 
itsel to pushion Bronte ! When the atheist flung him the 
arsenic ba', the deevil was at his elbow.* 

North. 'Twas a murder worthy of Hare or Burke, or the 
bloodiest of their most cruel and cowardly abettors. 

Shepherd. I agree wi' you, sir ; but dinna look sae white, 
and sae black, and sae red in the face, and then sae mottled, 
as if you had the rneasles ; for see, sir, how the evening 
sunshine is sleeping on his grave ! 

North. No yew-tree, James, ever grew so fast before — Mrs 
Gentle herself planted it at his head. My own eyes were 
somewhat dim, but as for hers — God love them ! — they 
streamed like April skies — and nowhere else in all the 
garden are the daisies so bright as on that small mound. 
That wreath, so curiously wrought into the very form of flowery 
letters, seems to fantasy like a funeral inscription — his very 
name — Bronte. 

Shepherd. Murder's murder, whether the thing pushioned 
hae four legs or only twa — for the crime is curdled into crime 

♦ Bronte was poisoned — at least so it is very confidently believed — by 
Bome of Dr. Knox's students, in revenge for the exposure of tlie principles 
5n wblcli their anatomical school was conducted. 



866 Are Animals immortal? 

in the blackness o' the sinner's heart, and the. revengefu' 
shedder even of bestial blood would, were the same demon to 
mutter into his ears, and shut his eyes to the gallows, poison 
the well in which the cottage-girl dips the pitcher that breaks 
the reflection o' her bonny face in that liquid heaven. — But 
hark! wi' that knock on the table you hae frichtened the 
mavis ! — Aften do I wonder whether or no birds, and beasts, 
and insecks hae immortal sowls ! 

English Opium-Eater. What God makes, why should He 
annihilate ? Quench our own Pride in the awful conscious- 
ness of our Fall, and will any other response come from that 
oracle within us — Conscience — than that we have no claim on 
God for immortality, more than the beasts which want indeed 
" discourse of reason," but which live in love, and by love, 
and breathe forth the manifestations of their being through 
the same corruptible clay which makes the whole earth one 
mysterious burial-place, unfathomable to the deepest sound- 
ings of our souls ! 

Shepherd. True, Mr. De Quinshy — true, true. .Pride's at 
the bottom o' a' our blindness, and a' our wickedness, and a' 
our madness ; for if we did indeed and of verity, a' the nichts 
and a' the days o' our life, sleepin and waukin,' in delicht or 
in despair, aye remember, and never for a single moment 
forget, that we are a' — worms — Milton, and Spenser, and' 
Newton — gods as they were on earth — and that they were 
gods, did not the flowers and the stars declare, and a' the 
two blended warlds o' Poetry and Science, lyin as it were 
like the skies o' heaven reflected in the waters o' the earth, 
in ane anither's arms ? Ay, Shakespeare himsel a worm — 
and Imogen, and Desdemona, and Ophelia, a' but the eemages 
o' WORMS — and Macbeth, and Lear, and Hamlet ! Where 
would be then our pride and the self-idolatry o' our pride, 
and all the vain-glorifications o' our imagined magnificence ? 



0' Bronte arrives. 367 

Dashed doun into the worm-holes 'o' our birth-place, among 
all crawlin and slimy things — and afraid in our lurking-places 
to face the divine purity o' the far, f ar-aff and eternal heavens 
in their infinitude ! — -Puir Bronte's dead and buried — and sae 
in a few years will a' Us Fowre be ! Had we naething but 
our boasted reason to trust in, the dusk would become the 
dark — and the dark the mirk, mirk, mirk ; but we have the 
Bible, — and lo ! a golden lamp illumining the short midnicht 
that blackens between the mortal twilight and the immortal 
dawn. 

North (blowing a boatswain's whistle). Gentlemen — ^look 
here ! 

(A noble young Newfoundlander comes hounding into 
the Arbor.) 

Shepherd. Mercy me ! mercy me ! the verra dowg himsel ! 
The dowg wi' the star-like breast ! 

North. Allow me, my friend, to introduce you to O'Bronte. 

Shepherd. Ay — I'll shake paws wi' you, my gran' fallow ; 
and though it's as true among dowgs as men, that he's a 
clever chiel that kens his ain father, yet as sure as wee Jamie's 
mine ain, are you auld Bronte's son. You've gotten the verra 
same identical shake o' the paw — the verra same identical 
wag o' the tail. (See, as Burns says, hoo it " hangs ower 
his hurdles wi' a swurl.") Your chowks the same — like him, 
too, as Shakespeare says, "dew-lapped like Thessawlian bills." 
The sam& braid, smooth, triangular lugs, hanging doun aneath 
your chafts ; and the same still, serene, smilin, and sagacious 
een. Bark ! man — bark ! let us hear you bark. — Ay, that's 
the verra key that Bronte barked on whenever " his blood 
fi^as up and heart beat high : " and I'se warrant that in 
anither year or less, in a street-row, like your sire you'll 
clear the causeway o' a clud o' curs, and carry the terror o* 
*your name frae the Auld to the New Flesh-market ; though 



368 JVortJiS Magkal j)oivdcr. 

tak my advice, ma clear O'Broiite, and, except when circum 
stances imperiously demand war, be thou — thoa jewel of a 
Jowler — a lover of peace ! 

English Opium- Eater. I am desirous, Mr. Hogg, of culti- 
vating the acquaintance — nay, I hope of forming the friend- 
ship — of that noble animal. Will you j^ermit him to — 

Shepherd. Gang your wa's,* O'Bronte, and -speak till the 
Eno-lish Opium-Eater. Ma faith ! you hae nae need o' drogs 
to raise your animal speerits, or heighen your imagination. 
What'n intensity o" life ! — But whare's he been sin' he was 
puppied, Mr. North ? 

North. On board a whaler. No education like a trip to 
Davis Strait. 

Shepherd. He'll hae speeled, I'se warrant him, mony an ice- 
berg — and worried mony a seal — aiblins a walrus, or sea-lion. 
But are ye no feared o' his rinnin awa to sea ? 

North. The spirit of his sire, James, has entered into him, 
and he would lie, till he was a skeleton, upon my grave. 

Shepherd. It canna be denied, sir, that you hae an un- 
accountable power o' attaching to you, no only dowgs, but 
men, women, and children. I've never <»douted but that you 
maun hae some magical pouther, that you blaw in amang 
their hair — na, intil their verra lugs and een — imperceptible 
fine as the motes i' the sun — and then there's nae resistance, 
but the sternest Whig saftens afore you, the roots o' the 
Badical relax, and a' distinctions o' age, sex and pairty — the 
last the stubbornest and dourest o' a' — fade awa intil undis- 
tinguishable confusion- — and them that's no in the secret o' 
your glamoury, fears that the end o' the warld's at haun, and 
that there 'ill sune be nae mair use for goods and chattels in 
the Millennium. 

TicMer. As I am a Christian — 

* Gancj your lua's — get off. 



0' Br oute swallows Opium. . 369 

Shepherd. You a Christian ! 

Tickler Mr. De Quincey has given O' Bronte a box of 
opium. 

Shepherd. What ! Has the dowg swallowed the spale-box 
o' pills ? We maun gar him throw it up. 

English Opium-Eater. The most monstrous and ignominious 
ignorance reigns among all the physicians of Europe respect- 
ing the powers and properties of the poppy. 

Shepherd. I wush in this case, sir, that the poppy mayna 
pruve ower poorfu' for the puppy, and that the dowg's no a 
dead man. Wull ye take your Bible-oath that he bolted the 
box ? 

English Opium-Eater. Mr. Hogg, I never could see any suffi- 
cient reason why, in a civilized and Christian courftry, an 
oath should be administered even to a witness in a court of 
justice. Without any formula, Truth is felt to be sacred — 
nor will any words weigh — 

Shepherd. You're for upsettin the haill frame o' ceevil 
society, sir, and bringing back on this kintra a' the horrors o' 
the French Revolution, The power o' an oath lies, no in the 
Reason, but in the Imagination. Reason tells that simple 
affirmation or denial should be aneuch atween man and man. 
But Reason canna bind, or if she do, Passion snaps the chain. 
For ilka passion, sir, even a passion for a bead or a button, 
is as strong as Samson bursting the withies. But Imagination 
can bind, for she ca's on her Flamin Ministers — the Fears ; 
— they palsy-strike the arm that would disobey the pledged 
lips — and thus oaths are dreadfu' as Erebus and the gates o* 
hell. — But see what ye hae dune, sir, — only look at O' Bronte 

[O'Bronte sallies from the Arbor — goes driving head-over' 
heels through among the Jlower-heds, tearing up pinks and 
carnations with his mouth and paws, and, finally, makes 
repeated attempts to climb up a tree. 



370 . G' Bronte's Rallumiations. 

English Opium-Eater. No such case is recorded ill the 
medical books — and very important conclusions may be drawn 
from an accurate observation of the phenomena now exhibited 
by a distinguished member of the canine species, under such 
a dose of opium as would probably send Mr. Coleridge * him- 
self to — 

Shepherd. — his lang hame — or Mr. De Quinshy either — 
though I should be loth to lose sic a poet as the ane, and sic 
a philosopher as the ither — or sic a dowg as O'Bronte. — But 
look at him speelin up the apple-tree like the auld serpent ! 
He's thinkin himsel, in the delusion o' the drog, a wull-cat 
or a bear, and has clean forgotten his origin. Deil tak me 
gin I ever saw the match o' that ! He's gotten up ; and's 
lyin a' his length on the branch, as if he were streekin himsel 
out to sleep on the ledge o' a brig ! What thocht's gotten 
intil his head noo ? He's for herryiu the goldfinch's nest 
amang the verra tapmost blossoms ! — ^Ay, my lad ! that was 
a thud ! 

O'Bronte, who has fallen from ike pippin^ recovers his feet 
— storms the Arbor — upsets the table jivith all the bottles y 
glasses, and plates- — and then, dashing through the glass 
front-door of the Lodge, disappears with a crash into the 
interior. 

English Opium-Eater. Miraculous! 

Shepherd. A hairy hurricane ! — What think ye, sir, o' the 
Scottish Opium-Eater ? 

English Opium-Eater. I hope it is not hydrophobia. 

Tickler. He manifestly imagines himself at the whaling,, 
and is off with the harpooners. 

Shepherd, A vision o' blubber's in his sowl. Oh that he 
could gie the warld his Confessions ! 

* S. T. Coleridge was a great consumer of opium. See Ids " Confession's ** 
In Cottle's EeminisGences. Born in 1771, Coleridge died in 1834. 



The Beehive Is itpset. 371 

English Opium- Eater. Mr. Hogg, how am I to understand 
that msinuation, sir ?' -* 

Shepherd. Ony way you like. But did ever onybody see 
a philosopher sae passionate ? Be cool — be cool. 

Tichler. See, see, see ! 
[O'Bronte. 

" lAlce a glory from afar, 
Like a reappearing star,'* 

comes spanging hack into the cool of the evening, with 

Cyprus, North's unique male tortoise-shell cat in his 

mouth, followed hy John and Betty, hroom-and-spit- 

armed, with other domestics in the distance. 

North. Drop Cyprus, you villain ! Drop Cyprus, you 

villain ! I say, you villain, drop Cyprus — or I will brain you 

with Crutch ! 

[O'Bronte turns a deaf ear to all remonstrances, and con- 
tinues his cat-carryiny career, through flower, fruit, and. 
Mtchen-gardens — the crutch having sped after him in 
vain, and upset a heehive. 
Tichler. Demme — I'm off. \_Makes himself scarce. 

North. Was that thunder ? 

Shepherd. Bees — bees — bees ! lutil the Arbor — intil the 
Arbor. — Oh ! that it had a door wi' a hinge, and a bolt 
in the inside ! Hoo the swarm's ragin wud ! The hum- 
min heavens is ower het to haud them — and if ae leader 
chances to cast his ee hither, we are lost. For let but ane 
set the example, and in a moment there 'ill be a charge o' 
beggonets.* 

English Opium-Eater. In the second book of his Georgics 
Virgil, at once poet and naturalist, — and indeed the two 
characters are, I believe, uniformly united, — beautifully treats 
of the economy of bees — and I remember one passage — 

* Ber/f/oiielfi — bayonets. 



372 Hogg and Tickler fly. 

Shepherd. They're after Tickler — they're after Tickler — ■ 
like a cloud o' Cossacks or Polish Lancers — a' them that's no 
settlin on the crutch. And see — see, a division — the left o' 
the army — ■ is bearin doun on O'Bronte. He'll sune liberate 
Ceeprus. 

Tickler {sub tegmine fagi) . Murder — murder — murder! 

Shepherd. Ay, you may roar — that's uae flea-bitin — nor 
midge-bitin neither — na, it's waur than wasps-^for wasps' 
stings hae nae barbs, but bees' hae — and when they strike 
them in, they canna rug them out again withouten leavin 
aliint their entrails — sae they curl theirsels up upon the 
wound, be it on haun, neck, or face, and, demon-like, spend 
their vitality in the sting, till the venom gangs dirlin to your 
verra heart. But do ye ken I'm amaist sorry for Mr. Tickler 
— for he'll be murdered outricht by the insecks — although he 
in a mainner deserved it for rinnin awa, and nx) sharin the 
common danger wi' the rest at the mouth of the Arbor. If 
he escapes wi' his life, we maun ca' a court-martial, and hae 
him broke for cooardice. Safe us ! he's comin here wi' the 
haill bike * about his head ! — Let us rin ! — let us rin ! Let 
us rin for our lives ! \_The Shepherd is off and away. 

North. What ! and be broke for cowardice ! Let us die at 
our posts like men. 

English Opium-Eater. I have heard Mr. Wordsworth deliver 
an opinion, respecting the courage, or rather the cowardice, 
of poets, which at the time, I confess, seemed to me to be 
unwarranted by any of the accredited phenomena of the 
poetical character. It was to this effect : That every passion 
of the poet being of " imagination all compact," fear would 
in all probability, on sudden and unforeseen emergencies, 
gain an undue ascendancy in his being over all the other 
unaroused active powers ; — (and here suffer me to put you 

V . ■ * i?(/;e— swarm. 



The Philosopher'' s Serenity. 373 

on your guard against believing, that by the use of such 
terms as Active Powers, I mean to class myself, as a meta- 
physical moralist, in the Scottish school, — that is, the school 
liiorc especially of'Reid and Stewart* — whose ignorance of 
the Will — the sole jjrovince of Moral Philosophy — I hold to 
be equally shameful and conspicuous :) — so that, except in 
cases where that Fear was withstood by the force of Sym- 
pathy, the poet so assailed would, ten to one (such was the 
homely expression of the Bard anxious to clinch it), take to 
almost immediate flight. This doctrine, as I have said, 
appeared to me, at that time, not to be founded on a suffi- 
ciently copious and comprehensive induction ; — but I had, 
very soon after its oral delivery by the illustrious author of 
the Excursion, an opportunity of subjecting it to the test 
act: — For, as Mr, Wordsworth and myself were walking 
through a field of considerable — nay, great extent of acres 
— discussing the patriotism of the Spaniards, and more par- 
ticularly the heroic defence of 

" Iberian burghers, when the sword they drew 
In Zaragoza, naked to the gales 
Of fiercely-breathing war," 

a bull of a red color (and that there must be something 
essentially and inherently vehement in red, or rather the 
natural, idea of red, was interestingly proved by that answer 
of the blind man to an inquirer more distinguished probably 
for his curiosity than his acuteness — " that it was like the 
sound of a trumpet ") bore down suddenly upon our dis- 
course, breaking, as you may well suppose, the thread 
thereof, and dissipating, for a while, the many high dreams 
(dreams indeed !) which we had been delighting to predict 

* Dr. Thomas Keid, Professor of Moral Philosophy in the University 
of Glasgow, born in 1709, died in 1796. Dugald Stewart, Professor uf 
Moral Philosopliy in the University of Edinburgh, born in 1753, died in 

1828. 



374 North threatens to Fire. 

of the future fates and fortunes of the Peninsula. The 
Bard's words, immediately before the intrusion of Taurus, 
were, " that death was a bugbear," and that the universal 
Spanish nation would " work out their own salvation." One 
bellow — and we were both hatless on the other side of the 
ditch. " If they do," said I, " I hope it will not be after our 
fashion, with fear and trembling." But I rather suspect, 
Mr. North, that I am this moment stung by one of those 
insects behind the ear, and in among the roots of the hair, 
nor do I think that the creature has yet disengaged — or 
rather disentangled itself from the nape — for I feel it strug- 
gling about the not — I trust — ^immedicable wound — the bee 
being scarcely distinguishable, while I place my finger on the 
spot, from the swelling round the puncture made by its sting, 
which, judging from the pain, must have been surcharged 
with — nay, steeped in venom. The pain is indeed most acute 
— and approaches to anguish — I had almost said agony. 

North. Bruise the bee " even on the wound himself has 
made." 'Tis the only specific. — ^Any alleviation of agony ? 

English Opium-Eater. A shade. The analysis of such pain 
as I am now suffering — or say rather, enduring — 

[Tickler and the Shepherd, after having in vain sought 
shelter among the shrubs, come jiying demented towards 
the Arhor. 

Tickler and Shepherd. Murder ! — murder ! — murder ! 

North. — 

" Arcades ambo, 

Et cantare pares, et respondere parati ! " 

English Opium- Eater. Each encircled, as to his forehead, 
with a living crown — a murmuring bee-diadem worthy of 
Aristseus. 

Noiih. Gentlemen, if you mingle yourselves with us, I will 
shoot you both dead upon the spot with this fowling-piece. 



0' Bronte is attacked. 375 

Shepherd. What'n a foolin-piece ? Oh ! sir, but you're 
cruel ! [Tickler lies down, and rolls himself on a plat. 

North. Destruction to a bed of onion-seed ! James ! into 
the tool-house. 

Shepherd. I hae tried it thrice — but John and Betty hae 
barred themselves in against the swarm. — Oh ! dear me — 
I'm exhowsted — sae let me lie down and dee beside Mr. 
Tickler ! [ The Shepherd lies doion heside Mr. Tickler. 

English Opium- JEafer. If any proof were wanting that I am 
more near-sighted than ever, it would be that I do not see in 
all the air, or round the luminous temples of Messrs. Tickler 
and Hogg, one single bee in motion or at rest. 

North. They have all deserted their stations, and made a 
simultaneous attack on O' Bronte. Now, Cyprus, run for 
your life ! 

Shepherd (raising his head). Hoo he's devoorin them by 
bunders ! — Look, Tickler. 

Tickler. My eyes, James, are bunged up — and I am flesh- 
blind. 

Shepherd. Noo they're yokin to Ceeprus ! His tail's as 
thick wi' pain and rage as my arm. Hear till him cater- 
waulin like a haill roof-fu' I Ma stars, he'll gang mad, and 
O'Bronte 'ill gang mad, and we'll a' gang mad thegither, and 
the garden 'ill be ae great madhouse, and we'll tear ane 
anither to pieces, and eat ane anither up stoop and roop, 
and a' that 'ill be left o' us in the mornin 'ill be some bloody 
tramplin up and doun the beds, and that 'ill be a catastrophe 
waur — if possible — than that o' Sir Walter's Ayrshire 
Tragedy — and Mr. Murray 'ill melodramateeze us in a piece 
ca'd the " Bluidy Battles o' the Bees ; '' and pit, boxes, and 
gallery 'ill a' be crooded to suffocation for a hunder nichta 
at haill price, to behold swoopin alang the stage the Last o' 

THE NOCTES AMBRQSIANiE ! ! ! 



376 The Hive exterininated' 

English Opium-Eater. Then, indeed, will the "gaiety of 
nations be eclipsed " ; sun, moon, and stars may resign their 
commission in the sky, and Old Nox reascend, never more to 
be dislodged from the usurpation of the effaced, obliterated, 
and extinguished universe. 

Shepherd. Nae need o' exaggeration. But sure aneuch I 
wadna, for anither year, in thai:, case, insure the life o' the 
Solar System — {Rising up.) — Whare's a' the bees ? 

North. The hive is almost exterminated. You and Tickler 
have slain your dozens aud your tens of dozens — O'Bronte 
has swallowed some scores — Cyprus made no bones of his 
allowance — and Mr. De Quincey put to death — one. So 
much for the killed. The wounded you may see crawling 
in all directions, dazed and dusty ; knitting their hind-legs 
together, and impotently attempting to unfurl their no 
longer gauzy wings. As to the missing, driven by fear from 
house and home, they will continue for days to be picked up 
by the birds, while expiring on their backs on the tops of 
thistles and binweeds — and of the living, perhaps a couple 
of hundreds may be on the combs, conferring on State affairs, 
and — 

Shepherd. Mournin for their queen. Sit up, Tickler. 

[Tickle It mes, and shakes himself. 
What'n a face ! 

North. 'Pon my soul, my dear Timothy, you must be bled 
forthwith — for in this hot weather inflammation and fever — 

Shepherd. Wull sune end in mortification — then coma — and 
then death. AYe maun lance and leech him, Mr. North, for 
we canna afford, wi' a' his failins, to lose Southside. 

Tickler. Lend me your arm, Kit — 

North, Take my crutch, my poor dear fellow. How are 
you now ? 

Shepherd. Hoo are you noo ? — Hoo are you noo ? 



A Grhastly Visage. 377 

Mnglish Opium-Eater. Mr. Tickler, I would fain hope, sir, 
that, notwithstanding the assault of those infuriated insects, 
which in numbers without number numberless, on the up- 
Betting — 

Tickler. Oh ! oh !— Whoh ! whoh !— whuh ! whuh ! 

• Shepherd. That comes o' wearin nankeen pantaloons with- 
out drawers, and thin French silk stockins wi' open gushets, 
and nae neckcloth, like Lord Byron. I find corduroys and 
tap-boots impervious to a' mainner o' insects, — bees, wasps, 
hornets, ants, midges, clegs, and, warst o' a' — the gad. By 
the time the bite reaches the skin, the venom's drawn out by 
ever so mony plies o' leather, linen, and wurset — and the 
spat's only kittly. But {putting his hand to his face), what's 
this ? — Am I wearin a mask ?■ — a fause-face wi' a muckle 
nose ? Tell me, Mr. Korth, tell me, Mr. De Quinshy, on the 
honors o' twa gentlemen as you are, am I the noo as ugly as 
Mr. Tickler ? 

North. 'Twould be hard to decide, James, which face 
deserves the palm ; yet — let me see — let me see — I think — I 
think, if there be indeed some slight shade of — What say you, 
Mr. De Quincey ? 

English Opium-Eater. I beg leave, without meaning any 
disrespect to either party, to decline delivering any oj)inion 
on a subject of so much delicacy, and — 

TicMer and Shepherd {guffawing). What'n a face I what'n a 
face ! Oh ! what'n a face ! 

English Opium-Eater. Gentlemen, here is a small pocket- 
mirror, which, ever since the year — 

Shepherd. Dinna be sae chronological, sir, when a body's 
Bufferin. Gie's the glass (looks in) — and that's me ? Blue, 
black, ochre, gambooshe, purple, pink, and — green 1 Bottle- 
nosed — wi' een like a j)iggie's ! The Owther o' the Queen's 
Wake ! T maun hae my pictur taen by John Watson Gordon, 



878 Leeches are applied 

set in diamonds, and presented to the Empress o' Russia, or 
some ither croon'd head. I wunner what wee Jamie wad 
think ! It is a phenomena o' a iizzionamy. — An' hoo sail I 
get out the stings ? 

North. We must apply a searching poultice. 

Shepherd. 0' raw veal ? 

Tickler {taking the mirror out of the Shepherd's handC). Ay ! 

North, 'Twould be dangerous, Timothy, with that face, to 
sport Narcissus. 

" Sure sue]! a pair were never seen, 
So aptly formed to meet by natxu-e ! " 

Ha! O'Bronte? 

[O'Bronte enters the Arbor, still under the influence of opium» 
What is your opinion of these faces ? 

0^ Bronte. Bow — wow — wow — wow. — Bow — wow — wow- 
wow ! 

Shepherd. He taks us for Eskymaws. 
North. Say rather seals, or sea-lions. 
O'Bronte. Bow — wow — wow — wow. — Bow — wow — wow— 
wow! 

Shepherd. Laugh'd at by a do wg I- — Wha are ye ? 
[John and Betty enter the Arbor with basins and towels, 

and a phial of leeches. 
North. Let me manage the worms. — Lively as fleas. 
[Mr. North, with tender dexterity, applies six leeches to the 

Shepherd's /ace. 
Shepherd. Preens — preens — preens — ^pi^ens ! * 
North. Now, Tickler. 
[^Attempts, unsuccessfully, to perform the same kind^ qffi,ce 
to Tickler. 
Your sanguineous system, Timothy, is corrupt. They won't 
fasten. 

* Preens — pins 



To the Wounded. 379 

Shepherd. Wuniia they sook him ? I find mine hangin cauld 
frae temple to chaf t, and swallin — there's ane o' them played 
plowp intil the basin. 

North, Betty — the salt. 

Shepherd. Strip them, Leezy. There's anither. 

North. Steady, my dear Timothy, steady ; ay ! there he 
does it, a prime worm — of himself a host. Sir John Leech. . 

English Opium-Eater. I observe that a state of extreme 

\ languor has succeeded excitement, and that O'Bronte has now 

fallen asleep. Hark ! a compressed whine, accompanied by 

a slight general convulsion of the whole muscular system, 

indicates that the creature is in the dream-world. 

Shepherd. In dookin ! or fechtin — or makin up to a— 

North. Remove the apparatus. 

[John and Betty carry away the basins, pitchers^ pJiialf 
towels, 8fc., 8fc. 

Shepherd. Hoo's my face noo ? 

North. Quite captivating, James. That dim discoloration 
sets off the brilliancy of your eyes to great advantage ; and I 
am not sure if the bridge of your nose as it now stands be 
not an improvement. 

Shepherd. Weel, weel, let's say nae mair about it. That's 
richt, Mr. Tickler, to hang your silk handkerchy ower your 
face like a nun takin the veil. Whare were we at? 

Tickler. I vote we change the Arbor for the Lodge. 'Tis 
cold — positively chill — curse the climate ! 

English Opium-Eater. Our sensations are the sole — 

Shepherd. If you're cauld, sir, you mgiy gang and warm 
yoursel at the kitchen fire. But we'se no stir — 

Tickler. Cursa.the climate I 

Shepherd. Cleemat ! Where's the cleemafe like it, I would 
wush to ken ? Greece ? Italy ? Persia ? Hindostan ? Poo — 
poo — poo ! Wha could thole months after months o' ae kind 



380 Real Scotch Thunder, 

o' wather, were the sky a' the while lovely as an angel's ee? 
Commend me to the bold, bricht, black, boisterous, and 
blusterin beauty o' the British heavens ! 

Tickler. But what think ye, James, of a tropic tornado, or 
hurricano ? 

Shepherd. I wouldha gie a doit for a dizzen. 'Swoopin awa 
a toun o' wooden cages, wi' ane bigger than the lave, ca'd 
the governor's house, and aiblins a truly contemptible kirk, 
floatin awa into rottenness sae muckle colonial produce, rice^ 
rum, or sugar, and frichtening a gang o' neeggers ! It mayna 
roar sae loud nor sae lang, perhaps, our ain indigenous Scottish 
thunner; but it rairs loud and lang aneuch too, to satisfy ony 
reasonable Christian that has the least regard for his lugs. 
Nae patriot, Mr. Tickler, would undervalue his native kintra's 
thunner. Hear it spangin — hap, step, and loup — frae Crua- 
chan to Ben Nevis ! The red-deer — you micht think them a' 
dead — and that their antlers were rotten branches — sae stane- 
like do they couch at ween the claps — without ae rustle in the 
heather. Black is the sky as pitch — but every here and 
there, shootin up through the purple gloom, — for whan the 
lichtnin darts out its fiery serpents it is purple, — lo ! bricht 
pillars and pinnacles illuminated in the growlin darkness, 
and then gone in a moment in all their glory, as the day- 
nicht descends denser doun upon the heart o' the glens, and 
you only hear the mountain-tap ; for wha can see the thousand 
year-auld cairn up-by yonder, when a' the haill heaven is ae 
coal-cloud — takin fire every noo and then as if it were a 
furnace — and then indeed by that flash may you see the 
cairn like a giant's ghost? Up goes the sable veil — for an 
eddy has been churning the red river int^ spray, and noo is 
a whirlwind — afid at that updriving see ye not a hundred 
snaw-white torrents tumblin frae the tarns, and every cliff 
rejoicin in its new-born cataract ? There is the, van o' anithor 



The" Buffoonery'' ofthe Nodes. 381 

cloud-army frae the sea. What 'ill become o' the puir ships ? 
A dismal word to think on in a tempest — lee-shore ! There's 
nae wund noo — only a sort o' sugh. Yet the cloud-army 
comes on in the dead march — and that is the muffled drum. 
Na — that flash gaed through my head, and I fear I'm stricken 
blind! Rattle — rattle — rattle — as if great granite stanes 
were shot out o' the sky doun an invisible aim-roof, and 
plungin sullenly intil the sea. The eagles daurna scream — 
but that demon the raven croaks — croaks — croaks, — is it out 
o' the earth, or out o' the air, cave or cloud ? My being is 
cowed in the insane solitude. But pity me — bless me — is 
that a wee bit Hieland lassie sittin in her plaid aneath a 
stane, a' by hersel, far frae hame, ha'in been sent to look 
after the kids — for I declare theie is ane lyin on her bosom, 
and its mither maun be dead ! Dinna be frichtened, my 
sweet Mhairi, for the lichtnin shanna be allowed by God to 
touch the bonny blue ribbon round thy yellow hair ! — There's 
a bit o' Scottish thunner and lichtnin for you, Mr. Tickler, 
and gin it doesna satisfy you, aff to the troppics for a tor- 
nawdoe ! 

English Opiam-Eater. You paint in words, mine admirable 
Shepherd, Nature in all her moods and aspects — 

Shepherd. The coorse buffoonery — the indecent ribaldry o' 
the Noctes Ambrosianae ! ! 

English Opium-Eater. Spirit of Socrates, the smiling sage 1 
whose life was love, I invoke thee to look down from heaven 
upon this blameless arbor, and bless " Edina's old man 
eloquent." Unsphere thy spirit, Plato ! or let it even, like 
some large and lustrous star, hang over the bower where oft 
in musing " melancholy sits retired " the grey-haired Wisdom- 
Seeker whom all Britain's youth adore, or " discourseth most 
excellent music " with lips on which, as on thine own, in 
infancy had swarmed — 



382 An Invocation. 

Shepherd. For Heaven's sake, nae mention o' bees ! That's 
a sair subjeck wi' me and Mr. Tickler. Get on to some o* 
the lave, 

.English Opium-Eater. Nor thou, stern Stagirite ! who nobly 
heldst that man's best happiness was " Virtuous Energy," 
avert thy face severe from the high moral " Teacher of the 
Lodge," of whom Truth declares that " he never lost a day." 

Shepherd. That's bonny. 

English Opium-Eater. From thy grove gardens in the sky, 
O gracious and benign Epicurus ! let drop upon .that cheerful 
countenance the dews of thy gentle and trouble-soothing 
creed ! 

Shepherd. Od ! I thocht Epicurus had been a great Epicure. 

English Opiivm-Eater. And thou, O matchless Merryman o' 
the Frogs and the Clouds ! * — 

Shepherd. Wha the deevil's he ? The matchless Merryman 
o' the Frogs and Clouds ! — That's opium. But hush your 
havers, Mr. De Quinshy ; and tell me, Mr. North, what for 
ye didna come out to Innerleithen and fish for the silver medal 
of the St. Ronan's Border Club ! I'm thinkin ye was feared. 

North. I have won so many medals, James, that my ambi- 
tion alei apLarevuv f is dead — and, besides, I could not think of 
beating the Major.l 

Shepherd. You beat the Major ! You micht at baggy men 
nons, but he could gie ye a stane-wecht either at trouts or fish. 
He's just a warld's wunner- wi' the sweevil, a warlock ■^i' 
the worm, and wi' the flee a feenisher. It's a pure pleesur 
to see him playin a pounder wi' a single hair. After the first 
twa-three rushes are ower, he seems to wile them wi' a charm 
awa into the side, ontil the gerss or the grevvel, whare they 



* Aristophanes. t Always to excel. 

X Major Mackay, a first-rato angler, and esteemed friend of Professor Wil- 
son's, 



North in Loch Awe. 383 

lie in the sunshine as if they were asleep, His tackle, for 
bricht airless days, is o' gossamere ; and at a wee distance aff, 
you think he's fishin without ony line ava, till whirr gangs 
the pirn, and up springs the sea-trout, silver-bricht, twa yards 
out o' the water, by a delicate jerk o' the wrist, hyucked 
inextricably by the tongue clean ower the barb o' the Kirby- 
bend. Midge-flees ! 

North. I know the Major is a master in the art, James ; but 
I will back the Profess'or* against him for a rump-and-dozen. 

Shepherd. You would just then, sir, lose 3^our rump. The 
Professor can fish nae better nor yoursel. You would make a 
pretty pair in a punt at the perches ; but as for the Tweed, at 
treats or sawmon, I'll back wee Jamie again', ye baith, gin 
ye'll only let me fish for him the bushy pools.t ' 

North. I hear you, James. Sir Isaac Newton was no 
astronomer. ... 

Shepherd. I hae nae objection, sir, noo that there's nae 
argument, to say that you're a gude angler yoursel, and sae 
is the Professor. 

North. James, these civilities touch. Your hand. In me 
the passion of the sport is dead — or say rather dull ; yet have 
I gentle enjoyment still in the " Angler's silent Trade." But, 
heavens ! my dear James ! how in youth, and prime of man- 
hood too — I used to gallop to the glens like a deer, over a 
hundred heathery hills, to devour the dark-rolling river, or 
the blue breezy loch ! 

Shepherd. Ay, sir, in your younger days you maun hae been 
a verra deevil. What creelfu's you maun hae killed ! 

North. A hundred and thirty in one day in Loch Awe, 
James, as I hope to be saved — not one of them under — 

Shepherd. A dizzen pun', — and twa-thirds o' them aboon't. 
A'thegither a ton. If you are gaun to use the lang-bow, sir 

* Wilson. t "Where deep wading is required. 



384 The Shepherds Baskets. 

pu' tlie string to your lug, never fear the yew crackin, and 
send the grey-guse-feathered arrow first wi' a lang whiz, and 
then wi' a short thud, right in til the bull's ee, at ten score, 
to tlie astonishment o' the ghost o' Robin Hood, Little 
'loliu, Adam Bell, Clym o' the Clough, and William o' 
CJoudeslee. 

Mrth. My poor dear old friend, M'Neil of Hay field =^— God 
rest his soul — it is in heaven — at ninety as lifeful as a boy at 
nineteen — held up his hands in wonder, as under a shady 
tree I laid the hundred and thirty yellow shiners on the bank 
at his feet. 

She-pherd. Poo ! That was nae day's fishin ava, man, in 
comparison to.ane o' mine on St. Mary's Loch. To sae nae- 
thing about the countless sma' anes, twa hunder about half a 
pun', ae hunder about a haill pun', fifty about twa pun', five- 
and-twenty about fowre pun', and the lave rinnin frae half a 
stane up to a stane and a half, except about half^a-dizzen 
aboon a' wecht, that put Geordie Gudefallow and Huntly 
Gordon! to their mettle to carry them pechinj to Mount 
Benger on a haun-barrow. 

North. Well done, Ulysses. 

Shepherd. Anither day, in the Megget, I caucht § a cartfu'. 
As it gaed doun the road, the kintra folk thocht it was a 
cartfu' o' herrins — for they were a' preceesely o' ae size to an 
unce — and though we left twa dizzen at this house — and four 
dizzen at that house — and a gross at Henderland — on coun'tin 
them at hame in the kitchen, Leezy made them out forty 
dizzen, and Girzzy forty-twa, aught ; sae a dispute ha'in 
arisen, and o' coorse a bet, we took the census ower again, 

* On the banks of Loch Awe. 

t The friend and araaniiensis of Sir Walter Scott. For an interesting ac« 
count of his connection with Scott, see Lockhart's Life, vol. ix. p. 195 et seq; 
second edition. 

t Pec/im— panting. § Cauc7i^— caught. 



The Prayer of Ajax. ' 885 

and may these be the last words I sail ever speak, gin they 
didna turn out to be Forty-Five ! 

Tickler. Mr. De Quincey, now that these two old fools have 
got upon angling — 

Shepherd, Twa auld fules ! You great, starin, Saracen- 
headed Langshanks ! If it werena for bringin Mr. North 
intil trouble, by ha'in ^ dead man fun' within his premises, 
deil tak me gin I wadna fractur your skull wi' ane o' the cut 
•crystals ! 

[M.V. North touches the spring, and the Bower is in dark- 
ness. 

Tickler. — 

** But such a chief I spy not through the host — 
De Quincey, North, and Sliepherd, all are lost 
In general darkness. Lord of earth and air ! 
O King ! O Father ! hear my humble prayer : 
Dispel this cloud, the light of heaven restore ; 
Give me to see, and Tickler asks no more. 
If I must perish— I thy will obey, 
But let me perish in the face of day ! " 

Shepherd. Haw! haw! haw! The speech o' Awj ax, in 
Pop's Homer. 
North. Gentlemen, let us go to supper in the Lodge. 

[ Omnes surgunt. 
Shepherd. What'n a sky ! 
North. — 

" Now glow'd the firmament 
With living sapphires. Hesperus, that led 
The starry host, rode brightest— till the Moon, 
Rising in clouded majesty, at length, 
Apparent Queen ! xuiveil'd her peerless light, 
And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw." 

25 



XXIII. 

rN WHICH, AFTER THE SHEPHERD HAS APPEARED 
SUCCESSIVELY AS PAN, AS HERCULES, AI^D THE 
APOLLO BELVIDERE, NORTH EXHIBITS HIS GREAT 
PICTURE— THE DEFENCE OF SOCRATES. 

Scene, — The Snuggery. Time, — Nine. Present, — North, 
Shepherd, and Tickler. 

Tichler. Centaur ! No more like a centaur, James, than 
he is like a whale. Ducrow * is not " demi-corpsed " — as 
Shakespeare said ol Laertes — with what he bestrides ; how 
could he, with half-a-dozen horses at a time ? If the block- 
heads will but look at a centaur, they will see that he is not 
six horses and one man, but one manhorse or horseman, 
galloping on four feet, with one tail, and one face much more 
humane than either of ours — 

Shepherd. Confine yoursel to your ain face, Mr. Tickler. 
A centaur would hae sma' diffeeculty in ha'in a face mair 
humane nor yours, sir — for it's mair like the face o' Notus or 
Eurus nor a Christian's; but as for ma face, sir, it's meeker 
and milder than that o' Charon himsel — 

North. Chiron, James. 

Shepherd. Weel, then, Cheeron be't — when he was instillin 
wisdom, music, and heroism intil the sowl o' Achilles, hira 

* The famous equestrian. 
886 



The Poetry of Motioyi, 387 

that afterwards grew up the maist beautifu' and dreadfu' o' 
a' the SODS o' men. 

Tickler. The glory of Ducrow lies in his Poetical Imper- 
sonations. Why, the horse is but the air, as it were, on which 
he flies ! What godlike grace in that volant motion, fresli 
from Olympus, ere yet " new-lighted on some heaven-kissing 
hill ! " What seems " the feathered Mercury " to care for the 
horse, whose side his toe but touches, as if it were a cloud in 
the ether ? As the flight accelerates, the animal absolutely 
disappears, if not from the sight of our bodily eye, certainly 
from that of our imagination, and we behold but the messenger 
of Jove, worthy to be joined in marriage with Iris. 

Shepherd, I'm no just sae poetical's you, Mr. Tickler, when 
I'm at the circus ; and ma bodily een, as ye ca' them, that's 
to say, the een ane on ilka side o' ma nose, are far ower gleg 
ever to lose sicht o' yon bonny din meer. 

North. A dun mare, worthy indeed to waft Green Turban, 

" Far descended of the Prophet line," 

across the sands of the Desert. 

Shepherd. Ma verra thocht ! As she flew round like licht- 
nin, the sawdust o' the amphitheatre becam the sand-dust o' 
Arawbia — the heaven-doomed region, for ever and aye, o' the 
sons o' Ishmael. 

Tickler. Gentlemen, you are forgetting Ducrow. 

Shepherd. Na. It's only you that's f orgettin the din meer. 
His Mercury's- beautifu' ; but his Gladiawtor's shooblime.* 

Tickler. Roman soldier, you mean, James. 

Shepherd. Haud your tongue. Tickler. Isna a Roman 
sodger a Gladiawtor ? Doesna the verra word Gladiawtor 
come frae the Latin for swurd ? Nae wunner the Romans 



* Ducrow's impersonations ot ancient statues were as perfect as his horse- 
manship. 



388 Tha Roman Soldier. 

conquered a' the warld, gin a' their sodgers focht like yon ! 
Sune as Ducraw tyuck his attitude, as stedfast on the steed 
as on a staiie, there ye beheld, stauning afore you, wi' helmet, 
swurd, and buckler, the eemage o' a warrior-king! The 
hero looked as gin he were about to engage in single combat 
wi' some hero o' the tither side — some giant Gaul — perhaps 
himsel a king — in sicht o' baith armies — and by the eagle- 
crest could ye hae sworn, that sune would the barbaric host 
be in panic-llicht. What ither man o' woman born could sus- 
tain sic strokes, delivered wi' sovereign micht and sovereign 
majesty, as if Mars himsel had descended in mortal guise, to 
be the champion o' his ain eternal city ? 

North. Ma verra thocht. 

Shepherd. Your thocht ! you bit puir, useless, trifling cre- 
tur ! — Ax you pardon, sir — for really, in the enthusiasm o' 
the moment, I had forgotten wha's vice it was, and thocht it 
was Mr. Tickler's. 

Tickler. Whose ? 

Shepherd. Sit still, sii'. I wunner gin the Romans, in 
battle, used, like our sodgers, to cry, " Huzzaw, huzzaw, 
huzzaw ! " . 

North. We learned it from them, James. And ere all was 
done, we became their masters in that martial vociferation. 
Its echoes frightened them at last among the Grampians ; and 
they set sail from unconquered Caledon. 

Shepherd. What a bluidy beatin Galgacus gied Agricola ! 

North. He did so indeed, James — yet see how that fellow, 
his son-in-law Tacitus, lies like a bulletin. He swears the 
Britons lost the battle. 

Shepherd. Haw, haw, haw ! What ? I've been at the 
verra spat — and the tradition's as fresh as if it had been but 
the verra day after the battle, that the Romans were cut aff 
till a man. 



Prometheus. 889 

North. Not one escaped ? 

Shepherd. Deevil the ane — the hills, where the chief car 
nage rotted, are greener nor the lave till this hour. Nae 
white clover grows there — ^nae white daisies — wad you believe 
me, sir, they're a' red ? The life-draps seepit * through the 
grun' — and were a body to dig doun far aneuch, wha kens 
but he wouldna come to coagulated gore, strengthening th,e 
soil aileath, till it sends up showers o' thae sanguinary go wans 
and clover, the product o' inextinguishable Roman bluid ? t 

Tickler. The Living Statues ! 

North. Perfect. The very Prometheus of -^schylus. Oh ! 
James ! what high and profound Poetry was the Poetry of 
the world of old ! To steal fire from heaven — what a glori- 
ous conception of the soul in its consciousness of immortal- 
ity ! 

Shepherd. And what a glorious conception o' the sowl, in 
its consciousness o' immortality, o' Divine Justice ! O the 
mercy o' Almichty Jove ! To punish the Fire-stealer by 
fastening him doun to a rock, and sendin a vultur to prey on 
his liver — perpetually to keep prey-preyin "on his puir liver, 
sirs — waur even nor the worm that never dees, — or, if no 
waur, at least as ill — ^rug-ruggin — gnaw-gnawin — tear-tearin 
— howk-howking at his meeserable liver, aye wanin and aye 
waxin aneath that unpacified beak — that beak noo cuttin like 
a knife, noo clippin like shissors, noo chirtin like pincuers, 
noo hagglin like a cleaver ! A' the while the body o' the 
glorious sinner bun' needlessly till a rock-block — needlessly 
bun', I say, sir, for stirless is Prometheus in his endurance o' 
the doom he drees, as if he were but a Stane-eemage, or ane 
o' the unsufferin dead ! 



* Seepit — soaked. 

t As LoticMus sings of the banks of tlie Neckar : — 

** E,ipa geiit regum natos e sanguine flores, 
E qui bus Heroum texent sibi serta nepotes." 

• • • 



390 TJie Glory of Prometheus. 

North. A troubled mystery ! 

Shepherd. Ane amaist fears to pity liim, lest we wraiig 
fortitude sae majestical. Yet see, it stirs ! Ha ! 'twas but 
tbe vultur. Prometheus himself is still — in the micht, think 
ye, sir, o' curse or prayer? Oh! yonner's just ae single 
slicht shudder — as the demon, to get a stronger purchase at 
his food, taks up new grun' wi' his tawlons, and gies a fluff 
and a flap wi' his huge wings again' the ribs o' his tictim, 
utterin — was't horrid fancy? — a gurglin throat-croak choked 
savagely in bluid ! 

North. The Spirit's triumph over pain, that reaches but 
cannot pierce its core — 

** In Pangs sublime, magnificent in Death ! '* 

Tickler. Life in Death ! Exultation in Agony ! Earth 
victorious over Heaven ! Prometheus bound in manglings 
on a sea-cliff, more godlike than Jove himself, when 

" Nutu tremefecit Olympum ! " 

Shepherd. Natur victorious ower the verra Fate her ain 
imagination had creawted ! And in the dread confusion o' 
her superstitious dreams, glorifying the passive magnanimity 
o' man, far ayont the active vengeance o' the highest o' her 
gods ! A wild bewilderment, sirs, that ought to convince us 
that nae licht can ever be thrown on the moral government 
that reigns ower the region o' human life — nae licht that's no 
mair astoundin than the blackness o' darkness — but that o' 
Revelation, that ae day or ither shall illumine the uttermost 
pairts o' the earth. 

North. Noble. These Impersonations by Ducrow, James, 
prove that he is a man of genius. 

Shepherd. Are they a"' his ain inventions ? 

North. Few or none. Why, if they were, he would be the 



The Apollo. 391 

greatest of sculptors. But thus to convert his frame into 
such forms — shapes — attitudes — postures — as the Greek 
imagination moulded into perfect expression of the highest 
states of the soul — that, James, shows that Ducrow has a 
spirit kindred to those who in marble made their mythology 
immortal. 

Shepherd. That's bonny — na, that's gran'. It gars a body 
griie — just like ain o' thae lines in poetry that suddenly 
dirls through you — ^just like ae smite on a single string by a 
master's haun, that gars shiver the haill harp. 

Tickler. Ducrow was not so successful in his Apollo. 

North. 'Twas the Apollo of the- painters, Tickler ; not of 
the sculptors. 

Tickler. True. But why not give us the Belvidere ? 

North. I doubt if that be in the power of mortal man. 
But even were Ducrow to show us that statue with the same 
perfection that crowns all his other impersonations, unless he 
were to stand for hours before us, we should not feel, to the 
full, its divine majesty ; for in the marble it grows and grows 
upon us as our own spirits dilate, till the Sun-god at last 
almost commands our belief in his radiant being, and we 
hear ever the fabled Python groan ! 

Tickler. Yes, North, our emotion is progressive — just as 
the worshipper who seeks the inner shrine feels his adoration 
rising higher and higher at every step he takes up the 
magnificent flight in front of the temple. 

Shepherd. Na, na, na — this 'ill never do. It's manifest that 
you twa hae entered intil a combination again' me, and are 
comin ower me wi' your set speeches, a' written doun, and 
gotten aff the nicht afore, to dumfounder the Shepherd. 
What bit o' paper's that, Mr. Tickler, keekin out o' the pocket 
o' your vest ? Notts. Notts in short haun — and a' the time 
you was pretendin to be crunklin't up to licht the tip o' your 



392 " Tickler detected. 

segawr, hae you been cleekin haud o' the catch-word— and 
that's the gate you deceive the Snuggery intil admiration o' 
your extemporawneous eeloquence ! The secret's out noo — 
an' I wunner it was never blawn afore ; for noo that my een 
are opened, they set till richts my lugs ; and on considerin 
hoo matters used to staun' in the past, I really canna chairge 
ma memory wi' a mair feckless cretur than yoursel at a 
reply. 

North. You do me cruel injustice, James — were I to pre- 
pare a single paragraph, I should stick — 

Shepherd. Oh ! man, hoo I would enjoy to see you stick ! 
stickin a set speech in a ha' f u' o' admirin, that is, wunnerin 
hunders o' your fellow-citizens, on ^Parliamentary Reform, 
for instance, or Slavery in the Wast Indies, or— 

North. The supposition, sir, is odious ; I — 

Shepherd. No in the least degree odious, sir— but superla- 
tively absurd, and ludicrous far ayont the boun's o' lauchter — 
excepp that lauchter that torments a' the inside o' a listener 
and looker-on, an internal earthquake that convulses a body 
frae the pow till the paw, frae the fingers till the feet, till a', 
the pent-up power o' risibility bursts out through the mouth 
like the lang-smouldering fire vomited out o' the crater o' a 
volcawno, and then the astonished warld hears, for the first 
time, what heaven and earth acknowledge by their echoes to 
be indeed — a Guffaw ! 

North. James, you are getting extremely impertinent ! 

Shepherd. Nae personality, sir ; nae personality sail be 
alloo'd, in ma presence at least, at a Noctes. That's to say, 
nae personality towards the persons present — ^for as to a' the 
rest o' the warld, men, women and children, I carena though 
you personally insult, ane after anither, a' the human race. 

North. I insult ? 

Shepherd. Yes — you insult. Haena ye made the haiD 



Tickler assumes the G-od. 393 

civileesed warld your enemy by that tongue and that pen o' 
yours, that spares neither age nor sect ? 

MrtL J??? 

Shepherd. You ! ! ! 

Tickler. Com^ come, gentlemen, remember where you are, 

and in whose presence, you are sitting ; but look here — here is 
the 

Apollo Belvidere. 
[Tickler is transformed into Apollo Belvidere. 

Shepherd. That's no canny. 

North. In his lip " what beautiful disdain ! " 

Shepherd. As if he were smellin at a rotten egg. 

North. There " the Heavenly Archer stands." 

Shepherd. I wadna* counsel him to shoot for the Guse 
Medal. Henry Watson * would ding him till sticks. 

North. I remember, James, once hearing an outrageous dis- 
pute between two impassioned connoisseurs, amateurs, men of 
vertu, cognoscenti, dilettanti, about this very Apollo Belvidere. 

Shepherd. Confoun' me gin he's no monstrous like marble ! 
His verra claes seem to hae drapped afi him — and I'se no pit 
on my specks, for fear he should pruve to be naked. — What 
was the natur o' the dispute ? 

North. Simply whether Apollo advanced his right or left 
foot — 

Shepherd. Ane o' the disputants maun hae been a great 
fule. Shouldna Apollo pit his best fit foremost, that is the 
richt ane, on such an occasion as shootin a Peethon ? Hut 
tut. — Stop a wee — let's consider. Na, it maun be the left fit 
foremost — unless he was ker-haun'd. f Let's try't. 

* Mr, Henry Watson, an accomplished member of the Queen's Body-Guard, 
the Royal Scottish Archers, is a brother of the distinguished painter, Sir 
John AVatson Gordon. [Mr. Watson, who is still (1876) hale and hearty, 
has recently endowed a "Fine Art Chair" in the University of Edinburgh, 
as a memorial to his brother.] 

t Ker-liaun'd — left-handed. 



394 Wliicli is the true Apollo ? 

\_The Shepherd rises, and puts himself into the attitude of 
the Apollo Belvidere — insensibly transforming himself into 
another Tickler of a shorter and stouter size. 

North. I could believe myself in the Louvre, before Mrs. 
Ilemans wrote her beautiful poem on the Restoration of the 
Works of Art to Italy. Were the two brought to the hammer, 
an auctioneer might knock them down for ten thousand 
pounds each. 

Shepherd. "Whilk of us is the maist Apollonic, sir ? 

North. Why, James, you have the advantage of Tickler in 
being, as it were, in the prime of youth — for though by the 
parish register you have passed the sixtieth year-stone on the 
road of life, you look as fresh as if you had not finished the 
first stage. 

Shepherd. Do you hear that, Mr. Tickler ? 

North. You have also most conspicuously the better of Mr. 
Tickler in the article of hair. Yours are locks — his leeks. 

Shepherd. Mr. Tickler, are you as deaf and dumb's a statue, 
as weel's as stiff ? 

North. As to features, the bridge of Tickler's nose — begging 
his pardon — is of too prominent a build. The arch reminds 
me of the old bridge across the Esk at Musselburgh. 

Shepherd. What say you to that, Mr. Tickler ? 

North. " 'Tis more an antique Roman than a — " 

Shepherd. Mr. Tickler! 

North. But neither is the nose of the gentle Shepherd pure 
Grecian. 

Tickler. Pure Peebles ! 

Shepherd. Oho ! You've fun' the use o' your tongue. 

North. Of noses so extremely — 

Shepherd. Mine's, I ken, 's a cockit ane. Our mouths ? 

North. Why, there, I must say, gentleman, there's a wide 
opening for — 



'•^ Panlmmdfr' ' 895 

Tickler. Doirt blink the buck teeth. 

Shepherd. Better than nane ava. 

North. Of Tickler's attitude I should say generally — that 

is— , 

[Here Tickler reai^sumes Souttisibe, and taking the Snug- 
gery at a stride, usurps the Ciiaiii, and outstretches him- 
self to his extremest length, with head leaning on the ridge, 
and his feet some yards off on the fender. 

Shepherd, (leaping about). Huzzaw — hiizzaw — huzzaw! — 
I've beaten him at Apollo ! Noo for Pan. 

[The Shepherd p(??ybms Pan in a style that would have 
seduced Pomona. 
TicMer. Ay — that's more in character. 
North. Sufficient, certainly, to frighten an army. 
Tickler. The very picture of our Popular Devil. 
North. Say, rather, with Wordsworth — 

" Pan himself, 
ITie simple shepherd's awe-inspiriug god." 

• 

Shepherd. Keep your een on me — keep your een on me — 
and you'll soon see a change that will strike you wi' astonish- 
ment. But rax me ower the poker, Mr. North— rax me ower 
the poker. 

[North puts the poker into Pan^s paivs, and instanter he is 
Hercules. 
Tickler, (clapping his hands). Bravo! Bravissimo ! 
North. I had better remove the crystal. Wheels the circular 
closer to the hearth. James, remember the mirror. 
Tickler. At that blow dies the Nemean lion. 
\_21ie SuKViiFA\T>,fingingdoicn the pnker-cluh, seems *o -Jrag 
*vp the carcase of the Monster icith a prodigious display qJ 
muscularity, a/id then stooping his neck, heaves it over hii 
head, as into some profound abyss. 
North. Ducrow's Double I 



39() NortKs Impersonation 

SJif'phei'd. {proudly). Say rather the Dooble, that's Twa, o* 
Ducraw. Ducraw's nae mair fit to ack Hercules wi' me, than 
he is to ack Samson. 

Tickler. I believe it. 

Shepherd. I could tell ye a droll story about me and Mr. 
Ducraw. Ae niclit I got intil an argument wi' him at the 
Caifee, about the true scriptral gate o' ackin the Fear o' the 
Philistines, and I was pressin him geyan hard about his 
method o' pu'in doun the pillars, when he turns about upon 
me — and bein' putten to his metal— says, "Mr. Hogg, why 
did not you object to my representing in one scene — and at 
one time — Samson carrying away the gates of Gaza, and also 
pulling down the pillars ? " 

North. There he had you on the hip, James. 

Shepherd. I hadna a word to say for't — but confessed at 
ance that it's just the way o' a' critics, wha stumble ower 
molehills, and yet mak naething o' mountains. The truth is, 
that a' us that are maisters in the fine arts, kens ilka ane 
respectively about his ain airt a th5usan' times mair nor 
ony possible body else — and I thocht on the pedant lecturin 
Hannibal on war, or ony ither pedant me on poetry, or St. 
Cecilia on music, or Christopher North on literatur, or Sir 
Isaac Newton on the stars, or — 

North. Now, .James, that you may not say that I ever 
sulkily or sullenly refuse to contribute my quota of " weel- 
timed daffin " to the Noctes — behold me in 
Heeculy.s Furens. 
[North offioith his coat and luaistcoat in a Jiffy, and goes to 
tvork. 

Shepherd. That's fearsome ! Dinna tear your shirt to rags— 
dinna tear your shirt to rags, sir ! 

Tickler. The poison searches his marrow-bones now I 

Shepherd. His bluid's liquid fire ! 



Of Hercules Furens. 397 

Tickler. Lava. 

Shepherd. Linens is cheap the noo, to be sure — dinna tear 
your shirt, sir — dinna tear your shirt. What pains maun a' 
that shuin * on the breist and collar hae cost Mrs. Gentle 1 

Tickler. O Dejanira ! Dejanira ! Dejanira ! 

Shepherd. That out-hercules's Hercules ! Foamin at the 
mouth like a mad dowg ! The Epilepsy ! The qniverin o' 
his hauns ! The whites o' his een, noo fiickerin and noo 
fixed ! Oh ! dire misshapen lauchter, drawin his mouth awa 
up alang the tae side o' his face, outower till ane o' his lugs ! 
Puir Son o' Alknomook! 

Tickler. Alcmena, James. . 

Shepherd. A' his labours are near an end noo ! A' the fifty, 
if crooded and crammed intil ane, no sae terrible as the last ! 
Loup — loup — loup — tummle — tummle — tummle — sprawl — 
sprawl — sprawl — row — row — row — roun' about — roun' about 
— roun' about — like an axle-tree — then ae sudden streek out 
intil a' his length, and there lies he straught, stiff, and stark, 
after the dead-thraws, like a gnarled oak-trunk that had 
keept knottin for a thousan' years. 

Tickler. But for an awkward club-foot too much, would 
T exclaim — 

** CediteRomani imitatores I Cedite Graii.'* 

Shepherd (raising North from the floor). Do you ken, sir, 
you fairly .tyuck me in — and I'm a' in a trummle. It's like 
Boaz frichtenin Ingleby f wi' his ain ba's. 

North. Rather hot work, my dear James. I'm beginning 
to perspire. 

Shepherd (feeling North* s forehead). Beginnin till perspire ! ! 
Never afore, in this weary warld, was a man in sic an eveD- 

• Shitin — sewing. 

+ Boaz and Ingleby were one and tlie same racket-player. 



898 " The Old Man eloquent "~ 

doun pour o' sweet ! A perspiration-fa' ! The same wi' your 
breist! Wiiat? You couldna hae been watter had yau stood 
after a thunner-plump for an hour under a roan. 

North. Say. spout, James, roan is vulgar — it is Scotch — 
and your English is so pure now, that a word like that 
grates harshly on the ear, so that were you in England, yon 
would undeceive and alarm the natives. But let us recur 
to the subject under spirited discussion immediately before 
Raphael's Dream — I mean the Jug. 

Shepherd. Let us come our wa's in till the fire. 

The Three are again seated at " the luee hit ingle hlinking 
bonnily" 

North. Where were we ? 

Shepherd. Ou ay. I was beginnin to pent a pictur o' you, 
sir, stickin a speech on Slavery or Reform. Slowly you rise 
— and at the uprisin o' " the auld man eeloquent " hushed is 
that assen.blage as sleep. But wide awake are a' een — as 
fixed on Christopher North, the orator o' the human race. 

Tickler, As is usual to say on such occasions — you might 
hear a pin fall — say a needle, which, having no head, falls 
lighter. 

Shepherd. He begins laigh, and wi' a dimness in and around 
his een — a kind o' halo, sic as obscures the moon afore a 
storm. But sune his vice gets louder and louder, musical at 
its tapmost hicht, as the breath o' a silver trumpet. Action 
lie has little or nane — noo and then the 'richt IVaun on the 
heart, and the left arm at richt angles till the body — just sae, 
—like INIr. Pitt's, — only this far no like Mr. Pitt's— for there's 
nae sense in that — no up and doun like a haunle o' a well- 
pump. What reasonin 1 What imagination ! Fancy free an«l 
fertile as an auld green flowery lea! Pathos pure as dew — 
and wit bricht as the rinnin waters, translucent. 
" At touch ethereal o' heaven's fiery rod ! " 



—Sticks! 899 

Tickler. Spare his blushes, Shepherd, spare his blushes. 

Shepherd. Wae's me — pity on him — but I canna spare his 
blushes — sae, sir, just hang doun your head a wee, till I 
conclude. In the verra middle o' a lano- train o' ratiocina- 
tion — (I'm gratefu' for havin gotten through that word) — 
surrounded ahint and afore, and on a' sides, wi' countless 
series o' syllogisms — in the very central heart o' a forest o' 
feegurs, containin many a garden o' flowers o' speech — 
within sicht, nay, amaist within touch o' the feenal cleemax, 
at which the assemblage o' livin sowls were a' w^aitin to break 
out intil thunder, like the waves o' the sea impatient for the 
first smiting o' a storm seen afar on the main, — at that verra 
crisis and agony o' his fame, Christopher is seized wi' a 
sudden stupification o' the head and a' its faculties, his brain 
whirls dizzily roun', as if he were a' at ance waukenin out 
o' a dream, at the edge o* a precipice, or on a '^ coign o' dis- 
advantage," outside the battlements o' a cloud-capt tower ; 
his eyes get bewildered, his cheeks wax wdiite, struck seems 
his tongue wi' palsy, he stutters — stutters — stutters — and 
*'of his stutterin finds no end " till— he sticks ! 

Tickler. Fast as a wagon mired up to the axle-tree, wliile 
Roger, with the loosened team, steers his course back to the 
farm-steading, with arms akimbo on old Smiler's rump. 

Shepherd. He fents ! a cry for cauld spring-water — 

North {froicning). Hark ye — when devoid of all proba- 
bility — nay, at war with possibilit}^ — fiction is falsehood, fun 
folly, mirth mere maundering, humor, forsooth! idiocy, 
would-be wit " wersh as parritch without saut," James a 
merry-Andrew, and the Shej^herd — sad and sorry am I to 
saj^. it — a Buffoon ! 

Shepherd. Haw ! haw ! haw ! Oh, man, but you're angry. 
It's aye the way o't. Them that's aye tryin ineffecktwally 
to make a fule o' itliers, when the tables are turned on them, 



4-00 A Muiinder standing. 

gang red-wud-stark-s taring mad a'thegither, and scarcely 
leave theirsels the likeness o' a dowg. But forgie me, sir — - 
forgie me — I concur wi'*you that the description was nae- 
thing but a tissue — as you hae sae ceevily and coortusly 
said — o' fausehood, folly, maunderin idiocy, and wersli 
parritch — 

Tickler. James a merry-Andrew, and the Shepherd a 
Buffoon ! 

Shepherd. Dinna " louse your tinkler jaw," sir, as Burns 
said o' Charlie Fox, on me, Mr. Tickler — for I'll no thoi 
frae you a tithe, Timothy, o' what I'll enjoy frae Mr. North 
— an' it's no twice in the towmont I ventur to ca' him 
Kit. 

North. Next time you pay me a visit, James, at No. 99 *— 
I'll show you THE Picture. 

Shepherd. I understaun' you, sir — Titian's Venus — or is't 
his Danaw yielding to her yellow Jupiter victorious in a 
shower o' gold ? Oh the selfish hizzie ! 

North. James, such subjects — 

Shepherd. You had better, sir, no say anither syllable 
about them — it may answer verra weel for an auld bachelor 
like you, sir, to keep that sort o' a serawlio, naked limmers 
in iles, a shame to ony honest canvas, whatever may hae been 
the genius o' the Penter that sent them sprawling here ; but 
as for me, I'm a married man, and — 

North. My dear James, you are under a gross delusion — 

Shepherd. It's nae delusion. Nae pictur o' the sort, na, no 
e'en although ane o' the greatest o' the auld Maisters, sail 
ever hang on ma wa's — I should be ashamed to look the 
servant lassies in the face when they come in to soop the flDor 
or ripe the ribs — 

* No. 99 Moray Place was Christoplier's imaginary residence in Edinburgh. 
No. 6 Gloucester Place was his veal abode. 



Tlie defence of Socrates. 401 

North (rising with dignity). No picture, sir, shall ever hang 
on my walls, on which her eye might not dwell — 

Shepherd. Mrs. Gentle ! A bit dainty body — wi*- a' the 
modesty, and without ony o' the demureness, o' the Quaker 
leddie ; and as for yon pictur o' her aboon the brace-piece o' 
your Sanctum, by Sir Thomas Lawrence — 

North. John Watson Gordon, if you please, my dear James. 

Shepherd. It has the face o' an angel. 

North, (sitting down with dignity). I was about to ask you, 
^An\es, to come and see my last work — my masterpiece — my 
chef-d'oeuvre — 

&iepherd. The subjeck ? 

North. The Defence of Socrates. 

Shepherd. A noble subjeck indeed, sir, and weel adapted 
for your high intellectual and moral genie. 

North. My chief object, James, has been to represent the 
character of Socrates. I have conceived of that character as 
one in which unshaken strength of high and clear Intellect — 
and a moral Will fortified against all earthly trials — sublime 
and pure — were both subordinate to the principle of Love. 

Shepherd. Gude, sir, — gude. He was the Freen o' Man. 

North. I felt a great difficulty in my art, James — from the 
circumstances purely historical — that neither the figure nor 
the countenance of Socrates were naturally commanding — 

Shepherd. An' hae ye conquered it to your satisfaction, sir ? 

North. I have. Another difficulty met me too, James, in 
this — that in hie mind there was a cast of intellect — a play of 
comic wit — inseparable from hi.s discourse — and which must 
not be forgotten in any representation of it. 

Shepherd. Profoond as true. 

North. To give dignity and beauty to the expression of 
features, and a figm-e of which the form was neither dignified 
nor beautiful, was indeed a severe trial for the power of art 



402 Tlte Cardinal 3Iotive. 

Shepherd. An' liae you conquered it too, sir ? 

North. Most^successfully. In the counteiiMuce, therefore, 
my rlcar James, to answer to what I have assigned as tlie 
highest principle in the character, Love, there is a prevailing 
cliaracter of gentleness — the calm of that unalterable mind 
has taken the appearance of a celestial serenity — an ex pros 
sion caught, methinks, from the peaceful heart of the uncloud- 
ed sky brooding in Jove over rejoicing nature. 

Shepherd. That's riclit, sir. 

North. Such expression I have breathed over the foreliead, 
the lips, and the eyes ; yet is there not wanting either the 
grandeur, nor the fire, nor the power of intellect, nor the 
boldness of conscious innocence. 

Shepherd. I'll come and see't, sir, the morn's mornin,* afore 
breakfast. Fowre ecfsfs. 

North. That one purpose I have pursued and fulfilled by 
the expression of all the Groups in the piece. 

Shepherd. Naething in pen tin ki tiler than groupin. 

North. You behold a prevalent expression of Love in the 
countenance of his friends and followers — of love oTeater 
than even reverence, admiration, sorrow, anxiety, and fear ! 

Shepherd. Though doutless a' thae emotions, too, will be 
expressed— and familiar hae they been to you. sir, through 
the coorse o' a strangely chequered though not unhappy 
life. 

North. Then, too, James, have I had to express — and 1 
have expressed it — tlie habitual character belonging to many 
there — besides the expression of the moment; countenances 
of generous, loving, open-souled youth ; middle-aged men of 
calm benign aspect, but not without earnest tliouglit ; and not 
unconspicuous, one aged man, James, almost the counterpart 
of Socrates himself, only without his high intellectual power, 

• The inorn^s tnornin — to-morrow morning. 



Of the Picture. ■ 403 

— a face composed, I may almost say, of peace, the only one of 
all perfectly untroubled. 

Shepherd. That's an expressive thought, sir — and it's 
original — that's to say, it never occurred to me afore yon 
mentioned it. 

North. He, like Socrates, reconciled to that certain death, 
familiar with the looks of the near term of life, and not .with- 
out hopes beyond it. 

Shepherd. Believed thae sages, think ye, sir, in the immor- 
tality o' the sowl ? 

North. I think, James, that they did — assuredly Socrates. 

Shepherd. I'm glad o't for their sakes, though they hae a' 
been dead for thousan's o' years. 

North. Then, James, how have I managed his judges? 

Shepherd. Hoo ? 

North. In all their faces, with many expressions, there is 

one expression — answering to the predominant disposition 

assigned to the character of Socrates — the expression of 

Malignity towards Love. 

Shepherd. You've hit it, sir ; you've hit it. Here's your 
health. 

North. An expression of malignity in some almost lost on 
a face of timidity, fear, or awe, in others blended almost 
brutally with impenetrable ignorance.* 

SJiepherd. That comes o' studying the passions. I think 
iir, little noo o' Collins's Odd. 

North. Then, James, I have given the countenances of the 
poojile. 

Shepherd. A fickle people — ever ready to strike doun 
offensive Virtue — and ever as ready to shed tears o' over- 
act! u remorse on her ashes ! 

• North might have taken some hints for his picture from Plato's Dialogiie 
of EutJnjpJiron, in which Socrates describes his accuser, Meletus, as a person 
" with lojig fe%siRight hair, a scanty beard, and a hooked nose." 



404 The passions of the People. 

North, In the countenances of the people, James, I have 
laboured long, but succeeded me thinks at last, in personifying 
as it were the Vices which drove them on to sacrifice the 
father of the city — to dim the eye and silence the tongue of 
Athens, who was herself the soul of Greece. 

Shepherd. A gran' idea, sir — and natural as gran' — ane tli;i; 
could only visit the sowl o' a great Maister. 

North. There you see anger, wrath, rage, hatred, spite, 
envy, jealousy, exemplified in many different natures. That 
Figure, prominent in the hardened pride of intellect, with 
his evil nature scowling through, eyeing Socrates with 
malignant, stern, and deadly revenge— is the King of the 
Sophists. 

Shepherd, About to re-erect his Throne, as he hopes, on the 
ruins o' that Natural Theology which Socrates taught the 
heathens. 

North. You see, then, James, — you feel that the purpose 
of the painter on the whole picture has been to express, as I 
said, his conception of the character of Socrates — a various 
and manifold reflection of one image ; but the image itself, 
giving the same due proportion — where Love sits on the 
height of moral and intellectual power, and Intellect in their 
triple union, though strong in its own character, is yet 
subordinate to Both. 

Shepherd. What a pictur it maun be, if the execution be 
equal to the design ! 

North. Many conceptions, my dear James, troubled my 
imagination, before, in the stedfastness of my delight in 
Love, I finally fixed upon this — which I humbly hope the 
world " will not willing let die." 

Shepherd. It's the same way wi' poems. They aye turn out 
at last something seemingly quite different frae the origina- 
tion form, — but it's no sae — for a spirit o' the same divine 



Waiting for the Verdict. 405 

sameness breathes throughout, though ye nae langer ken the 
bit bonny bud in " the bricht consummate flower." 

North. In one sketch — I will make you a present of it, my 
dear James — 

Shepherd. Thank ye, sir — thank ye; you're really ower 
kind — ower gude to your Shepherd ; but dinna forget, sir — 
see that you dinna forget — for you'll pardon me for hintin 
that sometimes promises o' that sort slip your memory — 

North. In one sketch, James, I have represented Socrates 
speaking — and I found it more difficult to give the character 
of the principal figure — because the fire of ^discourse, of 
necessity, gave a disproportionate force to the intellectual 
expression; while, again, I found it easier to give the char- 
acter of all the rest, who looked upon Socrates, under the 
power of his eloquence, simply commanding, with almost an 
undivided expression, in which individual character was either 
lost or subdued. 

Shepherd. Never mind — send me the Sketch. 

North. I will — and another. For, again, I chose that 
moment when, having closed his defence, Socrates stands look- 
ing upon the consulting judges, and awaiting their decision. 

Shepherd. Oh ! sir ! and that was a time when his ain 
character, methinks, micht wi' mair ease be most beautifully 
expressed ! 

North. Most true. But then, the divided and conflicting 
expression of all the other figures, some turned on the judges 
with scrutinizing eagerness, to read the decision before it was 
on their lips — some certain of the result — looking on Socrates 
— or on the judges — with what different states of soul ! These, 
James, I found difficult indeed to manage, and to bring them 
all under the one expression, which in that sketch too, as 
in my large picture, it was my aim to breathe over the 
canvas. 



406 The Last Discourse. 

Shepherd. You maun try, sir, to mak a feenished pictur 
frae that sketch, sir, — you maiin indeed, sir. I'll lend it to 
you for tliat purpose — and no grudge 't though ye keep it in 
your ain possession till next year. 

North. I have not only made a sketch of another design, 
James, but worked in some of the colors. 

Shepherd. The dead colors ? 

North. No — colors already instinct with life. I have 
chosen that calmer time, when, after the pronouncing of the 
sentence, Socrates resumes his discourse — you may read it, 
James, in that divine dialoo-ue of Plato * — 

Shepherd. But I'm no great haun at the Greek. 

North. Use Floyer Sydenham's translation, or — let me see 
— has he done that dialogue ? Take, then, that noble old 
man's, Taylor of Norwich. Socrates resumes his discourse, 
and declares his satisfaction in death, and his trust in immor- 
tality. A moment, indeed, for the sublime in art,* but afford- 
ing to the painter opportunity for a different purpose from 
that which was mine in my great picture. For in this sketch, 
instead of intending, as my principal and paramount object, 
the representation of individual historical character — I have 
designed to express — rather — the Power among men of the 
sublime Spirit of their being — exemplified among a people 
dark v/ith idolatry — using the historical subject as subser- 
vient to this my purpose — inasmuch as it shows a single 
mind raised up by the force of this feeling above nature 
— yea, shows the power of that feeling within that one 
mind, resting in awe upon a great multitude of men. For, 
surely, my dear James, it is not to be believed that at 
that moment one countenance would preserve unchai>ged 
*ts bitter hostility, when revenge was in part defeated by 
seeing triumph arise out of doom— when malignant hate 

* The PTiaedon. 



The Shepherd kneels 407 

had got its victim — and when murder, that had struck its 
blow, might begin to feel its heart open to the terror of 
remorse. 

Shepherd. Mj dear Mr. North, gie me baith your twa 
hauns. That's richt. Noo that I hae shucken, and noo that 
I hae squozen them in my ain twa nieves no unlike a \'ice, 
though you're no the king upon the throne, wi' a golden 
ci'oon on his head, and a sceptre in his haun — that's King 
William the Fourth, God bless him-^— yet you are a king ; 
and, as a loyal subject, loyal but no servile, for never was a 
slave born i' the Forest, here do I, James Hoggy the Ettrick 
Shepherd, kneel doun on ae knee — thus — and kiss the richt 
haun o' Kino^ Kit. 

\_Tlie Shepherd drops on his knee — does as he says, in spite of 
North's struggles to hinder him — rises — wipes the dust 
from his pans — and resumes his seat. 

North. " How many of my poorest subjects," James, " are 
now asleep ! " Look at Tickler. 

TicJder. Asleep ! Broad-awake as the Baltic in a blast. 
But when under the power of Eloquence, I always sit with 
my eyes shut. 

Shepherd. But what for snore ? Hae ye nae mercy on the 
sick man through the partition ? 

North. After Painting, let us have some Politics. 

Shephe.rd. Na — na— na — na — na ! Come, Mr. Tickler, gie's 
a sang — to the fiddle. See hoo your Cremona is smilin on 
you to haunle her frae her peg. 

^The ^niZTUF.JiT) takes down the celebrated Cremona from 
the icall, and, after tuning it, gives it to Tickler. 

Tickler (attemptirig a prelude). Shade of Stabilini ! heard'st 
thou ever grated such harsh discord as this ? 'Tis like a 
Utter of pio"s. [Tickler tunes his instrument. 

Shepherd. Oh, for Geordie Cruckshanks ! " Tickler at 



408 Roasted Goose. 

THE TUNING ! " What for, Mr. North, dinna ye get Geordie 
to invent a series o' Illustrations o' the Noctes, and publish 
a Selection in four volumms octawvo ? 

North. Wait, James, till " one with moderate haste might 

count a HUNDRED.'* 

Shepherd. What if we're a' dead ? 

North. The world will go on without us. 

Shepherd. Ay — but never sae weel again. The verra earth 
will feel a dirl at her heart, and pause for a moment pen- 
sively oii her ain axis. 

(Tickler- sings to an accompaniment of his own composition 
for the Oremona^ "i)emo5.") 

Shepherd. Soun' doctrine weel sung. (^A pause.) Do you 
ken, sir, that I admire guses — tame guses — far mair nor 
wild anes. A wild guse, to be sure, is no bad eatin, shot in 
season— out o' season, and after a lang flicht, what is he but 
a lickle o' banes ? But a tame guse, aff the stubble, &ii*s 
• — (and what'n a hairst this 'ill be for guses, the stooks hae 
been sae sair shucken !) — roasted afore a clear fire to the 
swirl o' a worsted string — stuffed as fu's he can baud frae 
neck to doup wi' yerbs — and devoured wi' about equal pro- 
portions o' mashed potawtoes and a clash o' aipple-sass — 
the creeshy breist o' him shinin outower a' its braid beautifu' 
rotundity, wi' a broonish and a yellowish licht, seemin to be 
the verra concentrated essence o' tastefu' sappiness, the bare 
idea o' which, at ony distance o' time and place, brings a 
gush o' water out o' the pallet — his theeghs slightly crisped 
hy the smokeless fire to the preceese pint best fitted for 
crunchin — and, in short, the toot-an-sammal o' the Bird a 
perfeck specimen o' the beau-ideal o' the true Bird o' Para- 
dise, — for sic a guse, sir, — (but oh ! may I never be sair sairly 
tempted) — wad a man sell his kintra or his conscience — and 
neist day strive to stifle his remorse bygobblin up the giblet-pie. 



Is discussed. 409 

North. To hear you speak, James, the world would take 
you for an epicure and glutton, who bowed down five times 
a day in fond idolatry before the belly-god. "What a 
delusion ! 

{Enter Picardy and Tail, luiih all the substantialities of 
the season.) 

Shepherd. Eh ! . Eh ! TVhat'n a guse ! Mr. Awmrose. — 
Dinna bring in a single ither guse, till we hae despatched 
our freen at the head o' the table. — Mr. Tickler, whare 'ill ye 
sit ? and what 'ill ye eat ? and what 'ill ye drink ? and what 
'ill ye want to hear ? and what 'ill ye want to say ? For oh, 
sir ! you've been pleesant the nicht — in ane o' your lown, 
but no seelent humors. [The Three tackle to. 



XXIV. 

[N WHTCri, TN THE RACE FRO 31 THE SALOON TO THE 
SNUGGERY, TICKLER AND THE SHEPHERD ARE 
DISTANCED B Y NORTH. 

Scene, — the Snuggery. Time,— Five o'Clock. Actors, — Xorth, 
Tickler, and the Shepherd. Occupation, — Dinner. 

Shepherd. What'n a bill o' fare! As lang's ma airra was 
the slip o' paper endorsed wi' the vawrious eatems,* and I 
was feared there micht be delusion in the promise ; but here, 
far ayont a' hope, and abooh the wildest flichts o' fancy, the 
realization o' the Feast ! 

North. Mine host has absolutely outdone to-day all his 
former outdoings. You have indeed, sir. 

Ambrose. You make me too happy, sir. 

Shepherd. Say ower proud, Picardy. 

Ambrose. Pride was not made for man, Mr. HoofSf. — Mr. 
North, I trust, will forgive me, if I have been too bold. 

Shepherd. Nor woman neither. Never mind him ; I forgie 
you, and that's aneuch. You've made a maist excellent 
observe. 

T'icMtr. Outambrosed Ambrose, by this regal regale ! 

Shepherd. I ken nae mair impressive situation for a human 
lieing to find himsel placed in, than in juxtiiposition wi' a 
mony-dished denner afore the covers hae been removed. The 

* JJafewis— items. 
410 



Anticipations. 411 

sowl sets itself at wark wi' a' its faculties, to form definite 
conceptions o' the infinite vareeities o' veeands on the eve 
o' being brocht to licht. Can this, it asks itsel in a laigh 
vice — can this dish, in the immediate vicinity, be, do ye 
Hiink, a roasted fillet o' veal, sae broon and buttery on the 
outside, wi' its crisp faulds o' fat, and sae white and sappy 
wi' its firm breadth o' lean in the in ? Frae its position, I 
jalouse ^ that ashetcan conteen nothing less than a turkey — 
and I could risk my salvation on't, that while j'-on's West- 
phally ham on the tae side, yon's twa how-towdies on the 
ither. Can you — 

TicJder. No man should speak with his mouth full. 

Shepherd. Nor his head empty. But you're mistaken if 
you mean me, Mr. Tickler, for ma mouth was at no period o' 
ma late discourse aboon half fu', as I was carefu' aye to 
keep swallowing as I went alang, and I dinna believe you 
could discern ony difference in ma utterance. But, besides, 
I even-doun deny the propriety, as weel's the applicabilit}^ o' 
the apothegm. To enact that nae man shall speak during 
^enner wi' liis mouth fu', is about as reasonable as to pass a 
law that nae man, afore or after denner, shall speak wi' his 
mouth empty. Some feeble folk, I ken, hae a horror o' doin 
twa things at ance ; but I like to do a score, provided they 
be in natur no only compatible but congenial, 

TicJder. And who, pray, is to be the judge of that ? 

Shepherd. Mysel ! Every man in this warld maun judge 
for himsel ; and on nae account v/hatsomever suffer ony ither 
loon to judge for him, itherwise he'll gang to the deevil at a 
haun -canter. 

North. Nobody follows that rule more inviolably than 
Tickler. 

Shepherd. In the body, frae the tic o' his crawvat a' the 



412 TJie Covers are lifted. 

way doun to that o' his shoon — in the sowl, frae the lightest 
surmise about a passing cloud on a showery day, to his maist 
awfu' thochts about a future state, when his " extravagant 
and erring spirit hies " intil the verra bosoai o' eternity. 

Tickler. James, a caulker. 

Shepherd. Thank ye, sir, wi' a' my wull. That's prime. 
Pure speerit. Unchristened. Sma' stell. Gran' worm. 
Peat-reek. Glenlivet. Ferintosh. It wad argue that a man's 
heart wasna in the richt place, were he no, by pronouncin 
some bit affectionate epithet, to pay his debt o' gratitude to 
sic a caulker. 

North. James, resume. 

Shepherd. Suppose me, sir, surveying the scene, like Moses 
frae the tap o' Pisgah the Promised Land. There- was a 
morning mist, and Moses stood awhile in imagination. But 
soon, sun-smitten, burst upon his vision through the trans- 
lucent ether the region that flowed with milk and honey — 
while sighed nae mair the children o' Israel for the flesh-pats 
o' Egypt. Just sae, sirs, at the uplifting o' the covers, flashed 
the noo * on our een the sudden revelation o' this lang- 
expected denner. Howsimultawneous the muvement! As 
if th-ey had been a' but ae man, a Briareus, like a waff o' 
lichtnin gaed the hauns o' Picardy, and Mon. Cadet, and 
King Pepin, and Sir Dawvid Gam, and Tappytoorie, and the 
Pech, and the Hoi PoUoi , and, lo and behold ! towerin 
tureens and forest-like epergnes, overshadowing the humbler 
warld o' ashets ! Let nae man pretend after this to tell me 
the difference atween the Beautifu' and the Shooblime. 

North. To him who should assert the distinction I would 
simply say, " Look at that Eound ! " 

Shepherd. Aj, he wad fin' some diffieeculty in swallowin 
that, sir. The fack is, that the mawgic o' that Buttock o* 

* TJie noo (the now)— at this moment. 



Epicures and Gluttons. 413 

Beef considered as an objeck o' hitellectual and moral Taste, 
lies in — Harmony. It reminds you o'that fine line in Byron, 
which beyond a' doubt was originally inspired by sic anither 
objeck, though afterwards differently applied : — 

'* The soul, tlie music breatliing from that face I " 

Tickler. Profanation ! 

Shepherd. What ! is there ony profanation in the applica- 
tion o' the principles and practice o' poetry to the common 
purposes o' life ? Fancy and Imagination, sirs, can add an 
inch o' fat to round or sirloin, while at the same time they sae 
etherealeese its substance, that you can indulge to the suppos- 
able utmost in greediness, without subjectin yoursel, in your 
ain conscience, to the charge o' grossness — ony mair than did 
Adam or Eve when dining upon aipples wi' the angel Raphael 
in the bQwers o' Paradise. And Heaven be praised that has 
bestowed on us three the gracious gift o' a sound, steady, but 
not unappeasable appeteet. 

Tickler. North and I are Epicures — but you, James, I fear, 
are a — 

Shepherd. Glutton. Be't sae. There's at least this comfort 
in ma case,' tJiat I look like ma meat — 

Tickler. Which at present appears to be cod's head and 
shoulders. 

Shepherd. Whereas, to look at you, a body would imagine 
that you leeved exclusively on sheep's head and trotters. As 
for you, Mr. North, I never could faddom the philosophy o' 
your fondness for soups. For hotch-potch and cockyleekie 
the wisest o' men may hae a ruling passion ; but to keep 
pJowterin, platefu' after platefu', amang broon soup, is surely 
no verra consistent wi' your character. It's little better than 
moss-water. Speakin' o' cockyleekie, the man was an atheist 
that first polluted it wi' prunes 



414 The Fastidious Tickler. 

North. At least no Christiao. 

Shepher'd. Prunes gie't a sickenin sweetness, till it tastes 
like a mouthfu' o' a cockney poem ; and, scunnerin, you 
splutter out the fruit, afraid that the loathsome lobe is a 
stink in snail. 

Tickler. Hogg, you have spoilt my dinner. 
. Shepherd. Then maun ye be the slave o' the senses, sir, 
and your very imagination at the mercy of your palat — or 
rather, veece versa, the roof o' your mouth maun hand the 
tenure o' its taste frae anither man's fancy — a pitiable con- 
dition — for a single word may change luxuries intil necessaries, 
and necessaries intil something no eatable, even during a 
siege. 

North. 'Tis all aifectation in Tickler this extreme fastidi- 
ousness and delicacy. 

Shepherd. I defy the utmost powers o' language to disgust 
me wi' a gude denner. My stamack would soar superior — 

Tickler. Mine, too, would rise. 

Shepherd. Oh, sir, you're wutty ! but I hate puns. — Tickler, 
is that mock ? 

Tickler. I believe it is ; but the imitation excels the original, 
even as Byron's Beppo is preferable to Yvqt&'b Giants. 

Shepherd. A' but the green fat. 

North. Deep must be the foundation and strong the super- 
structure of that friendship which can sustain thS shock 
of seeing its object eating mock-turtle soup from a plate of 
imitation silver — 

Shepherd. Meaner than pewter, as is the soup than sowens. 
An invaluable apothegm ! 

North. Not that I belong, James, to the Silver-Fork School.* 

Shepherd. The flunkeys — as we weel ca'd them, sir — a 
contumelious nickname, which that unco dour and somewhat 

Novelists of the Theodore Hook class had hee.T! thus oharaoterized. 



The Wooden Spoon, 415 

stupit radical in the Westminster would- try to make himsel 
believe he invented cwei' again, when the impident plagiary 
changed it — as he did the ither day — into " Lackey." 

North. I merely mean, James, that at bed or board I abhor 
all deception. 

Shepherd. Sae, sir, div* I. A plated spoon is a pitifu' . 
imposition ; recommend me to horn ; and then nane o' your 
egg-spoons, or pap-spoons for weans, but ane about the 
diameter o' my loof, that when you put it weel ben into 
your mouth, gars your cheeks swall, and your een shut wi' 
satisfaction. 

Tickler. I should like to have your picture, my dear James, 
taken in that gesture. 

North. Finely done in miniature, by MacLeay. 

Tickler. No. By some savage Rosa. 

Shepherd. A' I mean, sirs, is sincerity and plain-dealing. 
"One man," says the auld proverb, ''is born wi' a silver 
spoon in his mouth, and another wi' a wudden ladle." Noo, 
what would be the feelings o' the ffrst, were he to find that 
fortune had clapt intil his mouth, as Nature was geein him to 
the warld, what to a' appearance was a silver spoon, and by 
the how die and a' the kimmers f sae denominated accordingly, 
but when shown to Mr. Morton the jeweller, or Messrs. 
Mackay and Cunninghame, was pronounced plated ? He 
would sigh sair for the wudden ladle. Indeed, gents, I'm no 
sure but it's better nor even the real siller metal. In the 
first place, it's no sae apt to be stown ; % in the second, maist 
things taste weel out o' wud ; thirdly, there's nae expense 
in keepin't clean, whereas siller requires con-stant pipe-clay, 
leather, - or fianuen ; fourthly, I've seen them wi' a maist 
beautifu' polish, acquired in coorse o' time by the simple pro- 
cess o' sookin the horn as it gaed in and out o' the mouth J 

• Z)iy— do. { Klmmei's — gossips. t ''^iown— stolen. 



416 Memory and Intellect » 

fifthly, there's ten thousand times mair vareeity in the 
colors ; sixthly — 

Tickler. Enough in praise of the Wooden Spoon.* Poor 
fellow ! I always pity that unfortunate annual. 

Shepherd. Unfortunate annual ! You canna weel be fou 
already ; yet, certes, you're beginnin to haver — and indeed I 
have observed, no without pain, that a single caulker some- 
hoo or ither superannuates ye, Mr. Tickler. 

North. James, you have spoken like yourself on the subject 
of wooden spoons. 'Twas a simple but sapient homily. 
" Worms, madam ! nay, it ^5." Be that my rule of life. 

Shepherd. The general rule admits but o' ae exception — 
Vermicelli ? What that sort o' soup's composed o' I never 
hae been able to form ony feasible conjecture. Aneuch for 
me to ken, on your authority, Mr. North, that it's no worms* 

North. I have no recollection of having ever given you 
such assurance, James. 

Shepherd. Your memory, my dear sir, you'll excuse me for 
metionin't, is no just what it used to be — 

North. You are exceedingly im — 

Shepherd. Pertinent. Pardon me for takin the word out 
o' your mouth, sir — but as for your judgment — 

North. I believe you are right, my dear James. The 
memory is but a poor power after all — well enough for the 
mind in youth, when its business is to collect a store of 
ideas — 

Shepherd. But altogether useless in auld age, sir, when the 
Intellect — 

North. Is Lord Paramount — and all his subjects come 
flocking of their own accord to lay themselves in loyality at 
his feet. 

Shepherd. There he sits on his throne, on his head a croon, 

* The lowest graduate in honors at Cambridge is so called. 



In Old Age. 417 

and in his haun a sceptre. Cawm is his face as the sea — 
and his brow like a snaw- white mountain. By divine right 
a kin"- ! 

North. Spare my blushes. 

Shepherd. I wasna speakin o' you, sir — sae you ueedna 
blush. I was speakin o' the Abstrack Power o' Intellect per- 
sonified in an Eemage, " whose stature readied the sky," and 
whose countenance, serenely fu' o' thocht, partook o' the 
majestic stillness o' the region that is glorified by the setting 
sun. 

North. My dear boy, spare my blushes. 

Shepherd. Hem. (His face can nae mair blush than the 
belly o' a hen redbreast.) What philosopher, like an adjutant- 
general, may order out on parawde the thochts and feelings, 
and, strick though he be as a disciplinawrian, be obeyed by 
that irregular and aften mutinous Macedonian phalanx ? 

North. I confess it does surprise me to hear you, James, 
express yourself so beautifully over haggis. 

Shepherd. What for ? What's a wee haggis but a big 
raggoo ? — an' a big raggoo, but a wee haggis ? But will you 
believe me, Mr, Tickler, I was sae taen up wi' the natural 
sentiment, that I kentna what was on my plate. 

Tickler. And probably have no recollection of having, 
within the last ten minutes, eat a how-towdy. 

Shepherd. What the deevil are you twa about ? Circum- 
navigating the table in arm-chairs ! What ! Am I on 
wheels too ? 

[ The Shepherd follows North and Tickler round the 
genial hoard. 

North. How do you like this fancy, my dear James ? 

Shepherd. Just excessively, sir. It gies us a perfeck com- 
mand o' the entire table, east and wast, north and south; 

and at present, I calculate that I am cuttin the equawtor. 

27 



418 The Curricles. 

North. It relives Mr. Ambrose and his young gentlemen 
from unnecessary attendance — and, besides, the exercise is 
most salutary to persons of our age, who are apt to get fat 
and indolent. 

Shepherd. Fozy. So ye contrivg to rin upon horrals,* halt- 
ing before a darling dish, and then away on a voyage o' new 
discovery. This explains the itherwise unaccountable size o' 
this immense circle o' a table. Safe us ! It wouM sit forty ! 
And yet, by this ingenious contrivance, it is just about 
sufficient size for us Three. Hae ye taen out a pawtent ? 

North. No. I hate monopolies. 

Shepherd. What ! You, the famous foe o' Free-tredd ! 

J^prth. With our national debt — 

Shepherd. Dinna tempt me, sir, to lose a' patience under a 
treatise on taxes — 

North. Well — I won't. But you admire these curricles ? 

Shepherd. Moveable at the touch o' the wee finger. Whase 
invention ? 

North. My own. 

Shepherd. You Daedalus ! 

North. The principle, James, I believe is perfect — but I 
have not been yet able to get the construction of the vehicle 
exactly to my mind. 

Shepherd. I dinna ken what mair you could howp for, 
unless it were to move at a thocht. Farewell, sirs, I'm aff 
across the line to yon pie — nae sma' bulk even at this 
distance. Can it be pigeons ? 

[Shepherd wheels away south-east. 

North. Take your trumpet. 

Shepherd. That beats a'. For ilka man a silver speakin- 
Irumpet! Let's try mine. (^Shepherd puts his trumpet to his 
mouth.) Ship ahoy ! Ship ahoy! 

• Sotrals or wAorUe?— very small wheels. 



Southside m Pursuit. 419 

North {irumpet-tonc/ued). The Endeavor'* — bound for — 

Shepherd. Whist — wliisht — sir. — I beseech yon whisht. 
Nae drums can staun' siccan a trumpet, bhiwn by siccan 
lungs {kuiing down his trumpet). This is, indeed, the Pie o' 
Pies. I liowp Mr. Tickler 'ill no think o' wheelin roun' to 
this quarter 6' the globe. 

Tickler {on the trumpet). What sort of picking have you got 
at. the Antipodes, James ? 

Shepherd., Roar a little. louder — for I'm dull o' hearin. Is 
he speakin o' the Bench o' Bishops ? 
. Tickler (as before, but louder). What pie ? 

Shepherd. Ay — ay. 

Tickler (larghetto). What pie? 

Shepherd. Ay — ay. What'n a gran' echo up in yon 
corner ! 

[Tickler toheels away in search of the north-west passage — 
and on his approach the SnEPiiERD iccighs anchor icith 
tJie pie, cmd keeps heating up to tvindward — close-hauled — - 
at the rate of eight knots, chased hy Soutshide, loho is 
seen dropping fast to leeward. 

North. He'll not weather the point of Firkin, f 
Shepherd {putting about under North^s stern). I'll rin for pro- 
tection frae the Pirrat,$ under the guns o' the old Admiral — 
and being on the same station, I suppose he's entitled to his 
ain share o' the prize. Here, my jolly veteran, here's the Pie. 
Begin wi' a couple o' cushats, and we'll divide atween us 
the croon o' paste in the middle, about as big's the ane the 
King — God bless him — wore at the coronation. 

[Tickler wheels his chair into the nook on the right of the 
chimney-p>iece. 

Southside, hae you deserted the diet ? O man ! you're 

* Professor "Wilson had a yacht on Windermere named "The Endeavor." 
t A point of land running into Loch Lomond is so called. % Pirata 



420 Sound the Trwnpets ! 

surely no sulky ? Come back — come back, I beseech you — 
and let us shake hauns. It'll never do for us true Tories to 
quarrel amang ours els at this creesis. What'n a triumph to 
the Whigs, when they hear o' this schism ! Let's a' hae a 
finger in the pie, and as the Lord Chancellor said, and I pre- 
sume did, in the House o' Lords — " on my bended knees, I 
implore you to pass this bill ! " * 

\_The Shepherd kneels before Tickler, and presents to him 
a plateful of the pie. 

Tickler {returning to the administration). James, we have 
conquered, and we are reconciled. 

North. Trumpets ! \_Three trumpet cheers, 

Gurney (intshing in alarm from the ear of Dionysius), 
Gentlemen, the house is surrounded by a mob of at least fifty 
thousand Reformers, who with dreadful hurrahs are shouting 
for blood. 

Shepherd. Fifty thousan' ! Wha counted the radical ras- 
cals ? 

Gurney. I conjecture their numbers from their noise. For 
Heaven's sake, Mr. North, do not attempt to address the 
mob — 

North. Trumpets ! [ Three trumpet cheers. 

Gurney (retiring much ahashed into his ear). Miraculous ! 

Ambrose (entering with much emotion). Mr. North, I fear the 
house is surrounded by the enemies of the constitution, 
demanding the person of the Protector — 

Shepherd. Trumpets ! 

{^Three trumpet cheers. Exit Ambrose in astonishment. 

North. Judging from appearances, I presume dinner is over. 

* Lord Brcagham concluded his speech on Parliamentary Reform, 
October 7, 1831, in the following terms :— " I pray and exhort you not to 
reject this measure. By all you hold most dear— by all the ties that bind 
every one of us to our common oi*der and our common country, I solemnly 
adjure you, I warn you,— I implore, — ^yea, on my bended kneeSfl Bupplicato 
you— Reject not this Bill." 



, TJie Start. 421 

Shepherd. A'm stawed.* 

North. There is hardly any^ subject which we have not 
touched, and not one have we touched which we did not 
adorn. 

Shepherd. By subjecks do you mean dishes ? Certes, we 
have discussed a hantle o' them — some pairtly, and ither- 
totally ; but there's food on the brodd yet sufficient for a 
score o' ordinar men — 

Tickler. And we shall have it served up, JamBs, to supper. 

Shepherd. Soun' doctrine. What's faith without warks ? 

North. Now, gentlemen, a fair start. Draw up on my 
right, James — elbow to elbow. Tickler, your place is on the 
extreme gauche. You both know the course. The hearth-rug 
of the snuggery's the goal. All ready ? Away ! 

[ The start is the most beautiful thing ever seen — and all Three 
at once make play. 

Scene II. — The Snuggery. 

Enter North in his flying chair, at the rate of the Derhy 
heating, hy several lengths, Tickler and the Shepherd, 
now neck and neck. 
North ( pulling up as soon as he has passed the Judges' stand). 
Our nags are pretty much on a par, I believe, in point of con- 
dition, but much depends, in a short race, on a good start, 
and there the old man showed his jockeyship. 

Shepherd. 'Twas afause start, sir — 'twas a fause start — I'll 
swear it was a fause start till ma deein day — for I hadna 
gotten mysel settled in the saiddle, till ye was aff like a shot, 
and afore I could get intil a gallop, you was half-way across 
the fiat o' the saloon. 

North, James, there could be no mistake. The signal to 
Btart was given by Saturn himself ; and — 

. * Stawed— BVLviQitQd., 



422 ^^99 TefersJm Claim 

Shepherd. And then Tickler, afore me and him got to the 
fauldin-doors, after some desperate crossin and josllin, 1 alloo, 
on baith sides, ran me clean aff the coorse, and I had to make 
a complete circle in the bow-window or I could get the 
head o' my horse pinted again in a richt direction for winniu 
the race. Ca' ye that fair ? I shall refer the haill business 
to the decision o' the Jockey Club. 

North. What have you to say, Tickler, in answer to this 
very serious charge? 

Tickler. Out of his own mouth, sir, I convict him of con- 
duct that must have the effect of debarring the Shepherd 
from ever again competing for these stakes. 

Shepherd. For what stakes ? Do you mean to mainteen, 
you brazen-faced neerdoweel, that I am never to be alloo'd 
again to rin Mr. North frae the saloon to the Snuggery for 
ony steaks we choose, or chops either ? Things 'ill hae come 
to a pretty pass, when it sail be necessar to ask your leave 
to start — you blacklegs ! 

Tickler. He's confessed the crossing and jostling. 

Shepherd. You lee. Wha began't ? We started sidey-by 
sidey, ye see, sir, frae the rug afore the fire, where we was a' 
three drawn up, and just as you was gaun out o' sicht atween 
the pillars. Tickler and me ran foul o' ane anither at the nor'- 
east end o' the circular. There was nae faut on either side 
there, and a'm no blamin him, except for ackwardness, which 
was aiblins mutual. As sune's we had gotten disentangled, 
we entered by look o' ee, if no word o' mouth, in til a social 
compact to rin roun' opposite sides o' the table — which we 
did — and in proof that neither of us had gained an inch on 
the itlier, no sooner had we rounded the south-west cape, 
than together came we wi' sic a clash, that I thocht we had 
been baith killed on the spat. There was nae faiit on either 
side there, ony mair than there had been at the nor'-east ; 



To the Jockey Cluh. 423 

but then began his violation o' a' honor; for ha'in succeeded 
in shovin mysel aff, I was makin for the fauldin-doors — due 
west — ettlin for the inside, to get a short turn — when, whup- 
pin and spurrin like mad, what does he do but charge me 
richt on the flank, and drive me, as I said afore, several 3^ards 
aff the coorse, towards the bow-window, where I was neces- 
sitated to fetch a circumbendibus that wad hae lost me the 
race had I ridden Eclipse. Ca' ye that fair ? But it was 
agreed that we were to be guided by the law of Newmarket, 
sae I'll refer the haill affair to the Jockey Club. 

Tickler. Hear me for a moment, sir. True, we got en- 
tangled at the nor'-west — most true at the sou '-west came we 
together with a clash. But what means the Shepherd by 
shoving off ? Why, sir, he caught hold of my right arm as 
in a vice, so that I could make no use of that member, while 
at the same time he locked me into his own rear, and then 
away he went like a two-year-old, having, as he vainly 
dreamt, the race in hand by that manoeuvre, so disgraceful 
to the character of the carpet. 

North. If you please, turf. 

luckier. Under such circumstances, was I to consider my- 
self bound by laws which he himself had broken and reduced 
to a dead letter ? No. My subsequent conduct lie has accu- 
rately described ; off the course — for we have a bit of speed 
in us — I drove him ; but as for the circumbendibus in the 
bow-window, we must believe that on his own word. 

Shepherd. And daur you, sir, or ony man breathin, to dout 
ma word — 

North. Be calm, gentlemen. The dispute need not be re- 
ferred to the Club ; for, consider you were nowhere. 

Shepherd. Eh? 

North. You were both distanced. 

Shepherd. Baith distanced ! Hoo ? Where's the post ? 



424 TJie Coalition against North. 

North. The door-post of the Snuggery. 

Shepherd. Baith our noses were through afore you had reach- 
ed the rug. I'll tak ma Bible-oath on't. Werena they, Tickler ? 

Tickler. Both. 

North. Not a soul of you entered this room for several 
seconds after I had dismounted — 

Shepherd. After ye had dismounted ? Haw ! haw ! haw ! 
Tickler ! North confesses he had dismounted afore he was 
weighed — and has thereby lost the race. Hurrah ! hurrah ! 
hurrah ! Noo, ours was a dead heat — so let us divide the 
stakes — 

Tickler. With all my heart ; but we ran for the Gold Cup. 

Shepherd. Eh ! sae we did, man ; and yonner it's on the 
sideboard — a bonny bit o' bullion. Let's keep it year about ; 
and, to prevent ony hargle-barglin about it, let the first turn 
be mine ; oh ! but it'll do wee Jamie's heart gude to glower 
on't stannin aside the siller punch-bowl I got frae my friend 

Mr. What's the matter wi' ye, Mr. North ? Wliat for 

sae doun i' the mouth ? Why fret sae at a trifle ? 

North. No honor can accrue from a conquest achieved by 
a quirk.* 

Shepherd. Nor dishonor frae defeat; — then, "prithee why 
so pale, wan lover ? prithee why so pale ? " 

Tickler. I can hardly credit my senses when I hear an old 
sportsman call that a quirk, which is in fact one of the 
foundation-stones of the law of Racing. 

Shepherd. I maun gang back for ma shoon. 

North. Your shoon. 

Shepherd. Ay,ma shoon — I flung them baith in Mr. Tickler's 
face — for which I noo ask his pardon — when he ran me aflf 
the coorse — 

Tickler. No offence, my dear James, for I returned the 
compliment with both snuff-boxes — 



The Dessert 425 

North. Oh ! ho ! So you who urge against me the objection 
of having dismounted before going to scale, both confess that 
you flung away weight during the race ! 

Shepherd. Eh ? Mr. Tickler, answer him — 

TicMer. Do, James. 

Shepherd {scratching his head with one hand^ and stroking his 
chin with the other). We've a' three won, and we've a' three 
lost. That's the short and the lang o't — sae the Cup maun 
staun' ower till anither trial. 

North. Let it be decided now. From Snuggery to Saloon. 

Shepherd. What ! after frae Saloon to Snuggery ? That 
would be reversin the order o' nature. Besides, we 
maun a' three be unco dry — sae let's turn to, till the table 
— and see what's to be had in the way o' drink. What'n 
frutes ! 

North. These are Ribstons, James — a pleasant apple — 

Shepherd. And what's thir ? 

North. Golden pippins. 

Shepherd. Sic jargonels ! shaped like peeries — and yon 
Auclians* (can they be ripe?) like taps. And what ca' je 
thae, like great big fir-cones, wi' outlandish-lookin palm-tree 
leaves archin frae them wi' an elegance o' their ain, rouch 
though they seem in the rin', and aiblins prickly ? What ca* 
ye them ? 

North. Pine-apples, 

Shepherd. I've aften heard tell o* them — but never clapped 
een on them afore. And these are pines ! Oh ! but the 
scent is sweet, sweet — and wild as sweet — and as wild resto- 
rative. I'se tak some jargonels afterwards — but I'll join you 
noo, sir, in a pair o' pines. 

[North fives the Shepherd a pine-apple. 
Hoo are they eaten ? 

* Auchans—a, kind of pear. 



i26 The Flavor of Pine-Apple, 

TicJder. With jDepper, mustard, and vinegar, like oysters, 
James. 

Shepherd. I'm thinkin 3^011 maun be leein. 

Tickler. Some people prefer catsup. 

Shepherd. Hand your blethers. Catchup's gran' kitchen "* 
for a' kinds o' flesh, fish, and fule, but for frutes the rule is 
" sugar or naething," — and if this pine keep the taste o' 
promise to the pal at, made by the scent he sends through the 
nose, nae extrawneous sweetness will he need, self-sufficient 
in his ain sappiness, rich as the color o' pinks, in which it is 

sae savorily enshrined. 1 never pree'd ony taste half sae 

delicious as that in a' ma born days ! Ribstanes, pippins, 
jargonels, peaches, nectrins, currans and strawberries, grapes 
and grozets, a' in ane ! The concentrated essence o' a' ither 
frutes, harmoneesed by a peculiar tone o' its ain — till it melts 
in the mouth like material music. 

North {pouriiig out for the Shepherd a glass of sparkling 
champagne). Quick, James — quick — ere the ethereal particles 
escape to heaven. 

Siiepherd. You're no passin aff soddy f upon me ? Soddy's 
ma abhorrence — it's sae like tliin soap suds. 

North. Fair play's a jewel, my dear Shepherd. 

" From the vine-covered Mils and gay regions of France — " 

Shepherd. — 

** See the day-star o' liberty rise." 

Tliat beats ony guseberry — and drinks prime wi' pine. An- 
ither glass. And anither. Nooput aside the Langshanks-— 
and after a' this daffin let's set in for serious drinkin, thiiikin, 
lookin, and speakin — like three philosophers as we are — and 
siill let our theme be — Human Life. 

* Kitchen— rohsh. t Soda water. 



North is sick of Life. 427 

North. James, I am sick of life. With me " the^wine of 
life is on the lees." 

Shepherd. Then drink the dregs and be thankfu'. As lang's 
there's anither drap, however drumly, in the bottom o' the 
bottle, dinna despair. But what for are you sick o' life ? 
You're no a verra auld man yet — and although ye was, why 
mayna an auld man be geyan happy ? That's a' ye can 
expeck noo. But wha's happy — think ye — ^perfeckly happy 
— on this side o' the grave ? No ane. I left yestreen wee 
Jamie — ^God bless him — -greetin as his heart would break for 
the death o' a bit wee doggie that he used to keep playin wi' 
on the knowe mony an hour when he ought to hae been at 
his byuck — and when he lifted up his bonny blue een a' fu' 
o' tears to the skies, after he had seen me bury the puir tyke 
in the garden, I'se warrant he thocht there was a sair change 
for the waur in the afternoon licht — for never did callant loe 
collie as he loed Luath ; and to be sure he, on his side, wasna 
ungratefu' — ior Luath keepit lichin his haun till the verra 
last gasp, though he dee'd of that cruel distemper. Fill your 
glass, sir. 

North. I have been subject to fits of blackest melancholy 
since I was a child, James. 

Shepherd. An' think ye, sir, that naebody has been subjeck 
to fits o' blackest melancholy since they were a bairn but 
yoursel ? Wi' some it's constitutional, and that's a hopeless 
case ; for it rins, or rather stagnates, in the bluid, and meesery 
has been bequeathed frae father to son, doun mony dismal 
generations — nor has ceased till some childless suicide, by a 
maist ruefu' catastrophe, has closed the cleemax, by the 
unblessed extinction o' the race. But you, my dear sir, are 
come o' a cheerfu' kind, and mirth laughed in the ha's o' a' 
your ancestors. Cheer up, sir — cheer up-^-fill your glass wi' 
Madeiry — ^an' nae mair folly about fits — for you're gettin fatter 



428 The Young and Happy. 

an' fatter every year, and what you ca' despair 's but the 
dumps. 

North. O, mihi praateritos referat si Jupiter annoa ! 

Shepherd. Ay — passion gies vent to mony an impious 
prayer ! The mair I meditat on ony season o' my life, the 
mair fearfu' grows the thocht o' leevin't ower again, and my 
sowl recoils alike frae the bliss and frae the meesery, as if 
baith alike had been sae intense that it were impossible they 
could be re-endured ! 
- North. James, I regard you with much affection. 

Shepherd. I ken you do, sir — and I repay't three-fauld ; but 
I canna thole to hear you talkin nonsense. What for are ye 
no drinkin your Madeiry ? 

North. How pregnant with pathos to an aged man are 
those two short lines of Wordsworth — about poor Ruth ! — 

" Ere she had wept, ere she had moum'd, 
A young and happy child." 

Shepherd. They are beautifu' where they staun', and true ; 
but fause in the abstrack, for the youngest and happiest child 
has often wept and mourned, even when its mither has been 
try in to rock it asleep in its cradle. Think o' the tee thin, 
sir, and a' the colic-pains incident to babbyhood ! 

North. "You speak to me who never had a child." 

Shepherd. I'm no sae sure o' that, sir. Few men hae leeved 
till threescore and ten without being faithers ; but that's no 
the pint j the pint is the pleasures and pains o' childhood, 
and hoo nicely they are balanced to us poor sons of a day ! 
I ken naething o' your childhood, sir, nor o' Mr. Tickler's, 
except that in very early life you maun hae been twa stirrin 
gentlemen — 

Tickler. I have heard my mother say that I was a remark- 
ably mild child till about — 

Shepherd. Six— when it cost your faither an income for 



Childhood of Tickler. 4-29 

tawse to skelp out o' you the innate ferocity that began to 
break upon you like a rash alang wi' the measles — 

Tickler. It is somewhat singular, James, that I never have 
had measles — nor smallpox — nor hooping-cough — nor scarlet- 
fever — nor — 

Shepherd. There's a braw time comin, for these are com- 
plents nane escape ; and I shouldna be surprised to see you 
at next Noctes wi' them a' f owre — a' spotted and blotched, as 
red as an Indian or a tile-roof, and crawin like a cock, in a 
fearsome manner — to which add the Asiatic cholera, and 
then, ma man, I wadna be in your shoon for the free gift o' 
the best o' the Duke's store-farms, wi' a' the plenishin— for 
the fifth comin on the ither fowre, lang as you are, wad cut 
you aff like a cucumber. 

North. — 

'* Ah, happy hills ! ah., pleasing' shade I 
Ah, fields beloved in vain ! 
Where once my careless childhood stray'd, 
A stranger yet to pain." 

Shepherd. That's Gray — and Gray was the best poet that 
ever belanged to a college — but — 

North. All great (except one) and most good poets have 
belonged to colleges. 

Shepherd. Humph. But a line comes soon after that is the 
key to that stanza — 

*' My weary soul they seem to soothe ! " 

Gray wasna an auld man — ^far frae it — when he wrote that 
beautifu' Odd— but he was fu' o' sensibility and genius — and 
after a lapse o' years, when he beheld again the bits o' bricht 
and bauld leevin eemages glancin athwart the green — a' the 
Eton College callants in full cry — his heart amaist dee'd 
within him at the sicht and the soun' — ^for his pulse, as he 



430 The Joy of arief ! 

• 
put his finger to his wrist, beat fent and intermittent in com- 
parison, and nae wunner that he should fa' intil a dooble 
delusion about their happiness and his ain meesery. And 
sae the poem's colored throughout wi' a pensive spirit o' 
regret, in some places wi' the gloom o' melancholy, and in 
ane or twa amaist black wi' despair. It's a fine picture o* 
passion, sir, and true to nature in every touch. Yet frae 
beginnin to end, in the eye o' reason, and faith, and religion, 
it's a' ae lee. Fause, surely, a' thae forebodings o' a fatal 
futurity. For love, joy, and bliss are not banished frae this 
life ; and in writin that verra poem, maunna the state o* 
Gray's sowl hae been itsel divine ? 

North. Tickler ? 

Tickler. Good. 

Shepherd. What are mony o' the pleasures o' memory, sirs, 
but the pains o' the past spiritualeezed ? 

North. Tickler? 

Tickler. True. 

Shepherd. A' human feelings seem somehow or ither to 
partake o' the same character, when the objects that awake 
them have withdrawn far, far awa intil the dim distance, or 
disappeared for ever in the dust. 

Tickler. North ? 

North. The Philosophy of Nature. 

Shepherd. And that Tam Cawmel maun hae felt, when he 
wrote that glorious line — 

" And teach, impassion'd souls the joy of grief ! '* 

North. The joy of grief ! That is a joy known but to the 
happy, James. The soul that can dream of past sorrows till 
they touch it with a pensive delight can be suffering under 
no severe trouble — 

Shepherd. Perhaps no, sir. But may that no aften happen 



The Blue Devils. 431 

too, when the heart is amaist dead to a' pleasure in the 
present, and loves but to converse wi' phantoms ? I've seen 
pale still-faces o' widow-women, — ane sic is afore me the noo, 
whase husband was killed in the wars lang lang ago in a 
forgotten battle — she leeves on a sma' pension in a laigh 
and lonely house, — that bespeak constant communion wi' 
the dead, and yet nae want either o' a meek and mournfu' 
sympathy wi' the leevin, provided only ye show them by the 
considerate gentleness o' your manner, when you chance to 
ca' on them on a week-day, or meet them at the kirk on 
Sabbath, that you ken something o' their history, and hae a 
Christian feelin for their uncomplainin affliction. Surely, 
sir, at times, when some tender gleam o' memory glides like 
moonlight across their path, and reveals in the hush some 
ineffable eemage o' what was lovely and beloved o' yore, 
when they were, as they thocht, perfectly happy, although 
the heart kens weel that 'tis but an eemage, and nae mair — 
yet still it maun be blest ; and let the tears drap as they will 
on the faded cheek, I should say the puir desolate cretur did 
in that strange fit o' passion suffer the joy o' grief. 

North. You wiir forgive me, James, when I confess, that 
though I enjoyed just now the sound of your voice, which 
seemed to me more than usually pleasant, with a trembling 
tone of the pathetic, I did not catch the sense of your 
speech. 

Shepherd. I wasna makin a speech, sir — only uttering a sort 
o' sentiment that has already evaporated clean out o' mind 
or passed awa like an uncertain shadow. 

North. Misery is selfish, James — and I have lost almost all 
sympathy with my fellow-creatures, alike in their joys and 
their sorrows. 

Shepherd. Come, come, sir — cheer up, cheer up. It's nae- 
thing but the blue devils. 



432 Tlie Blue Devils. 

North. All dead — one after another — the friends in whom 
lay the light and might of my life — and memory's self ia 
faithless now to the " old familiar faces. '^ Eyes — ^brows — ■ 
lips — smiles — ^voices — all — all forgotten ! Pitiable, indeed, 
is old age, when love itself grows feeble in the heart, and yet 
the dotard is still conscious that he is day by day letting 
some sacred remembrance slip for ever from him that he once 
clierished devoutly in his heart's core, and feels that mental 
decay alone is fast delivering them all up to 'oblivion ! 

Shepherd. Sittin wi' rheumy een, mumblin wi' his mouth 
on his breist, and no kennin frae ither weans his grandchil- 
dren, wha have come to visit him wi' their mother, his ain 
bricht and beautifu' dauchter, wha seems to him a stranger 
passing alang the street. 

North. What said you, James ? 

Shepherd. Naething, sir, naething. I wasna speakin o' you 
— ^but o' anither man. 

North. They who knew me — and loved me — and honored 
me — and admired me — for why fear to use that word, now 
to me charmless ? — ^all dust ! What are a thousand kind 
acquaintances, James, to him who - has buried all the few 
friends of his soul — all the few — one — two — three — but 
powerful as a whole army to guard the holiest recesses of 
.life! 

Shepherd. An' am I accounted but a kind acquaintance and 
nae mair ? I wha — 

North. What have I said to hurt you, my dear James ? 

Shepherd. Never mind, sir — never mind. I'll try to forget 
it — but — 

North. Stir the fire, James — and give a slight touch to 
that lamp. 

Shepherd There's a bleeze, sir, at ae blast. An' there's 
the Orrery, bricht as the nicht in Homer's Iliad, about which 



The Salmon Medal. 433 

you wrote sic eloquent havers. And there's your bumper- 
glass. Noo, sir, be candid, and tell me gif you dinna think 
that you've been a verra great fule ? 

North. I believe I have, my dear James. But, by all that 
is ludicrous here below, look at Tickler ! [ Tickler sleeps 

Shepherd. Oh for Cruckshank ! 

North. By the bye, James, who won the salmon medal this 
season on the Tweed ? 

Shepherd. Wha, think ye, could it be, ye coof, but mysel ? 
I bet them a' by twa stane weclit. Oh, Mr. North, but it 
wad hae done your heart gude to hae daunered alang the 
banks wi' me on the 25th, and seen the slauchter. At the 
third thraw the snout o' a famous fish sookit in ma flee — and 
for some seconds keepit stedfast in a sort o' eddy that gaed 
sullenly swirlin at the tail o' yon pool — Ineedna name't — ^for' 
the river had risen just to the proper pint, and was black as 
ink, except when noo and then the sun struggled out frae 
atween the clud-chinks, and then the water was purple as 
heather-moss in the season of blaeberries. But that verra 
instant the flee began to bite him on the tongue, for by a 
jerk o' the wrist I had slightly gien him the butt — and sun- 
beam never swifter shot frae Heaven, than shot that saumon- 
beam down in til and out o' the pool below, and alang the 
saugh-shallows or you come to Juniper Bank. Clap — clap — 
clap — at the same instant played a couple o' cushats frae an 
aik aboon my head, at the purr o' the pirn, that let out in a 
twinkling a hunner yards o' Mr. Phin's best, Strang aneuch 
to hand a bill or a rhinoceros. 

North. Incomparable tackle ! 

Shepherd. Far, far awa doun the flood, see till him, sir- 
see till him, — loup-loup-loapin in til the air, describin in 
the spray the rinnin rainbows ! Scarcely could I believe, at 
sic a distance, that he was the same fish. He seemed a 



484 Hogg in Ms Cork- Jacket 

saumon divertin himsel, without ony connection in this 
warld wi' the Shepherd. But we were linked thegither, sir, 
by the inveesible gut o' destiny — and I chasteesed him in 
his pastime wi' the rod o' affliction. Windin up — windin up, 
faster than ever ye grunded coffee — I keepit closin in upon 
him, till the whalebone was amaist perpendicular outower 
him, as he stoppit to tak breath in a deep plum. You see 
the savage had gotten sulky, and you micht -as weel hae 
rugged at a rock. Hoo I leuch ! Easin the line ever so 
little, till it just moved slichtly like gossamer in a breath o' 
wund — I half persuaded him that he had gotten aff ; but ua, 
na, ma man, ye ken little about the Kirby-bends gin ye 
think the peacock's harl and the tinsy hae slipped frae your 
jaws ! Snoovin up the stream, he goes hither and thither, 
but still keepin weel in the middle — and noo strecht and 
steddy as a bridegroom ridin to the kirk. 

North. An original image. 

Shepherd. Say rather application ! Maist majestic, sir^ 
you'll alloo, is that flicht o' a fish when the line cuts the 
surface without commotion, and you micht imagine that 
he was sailin unseen below in the siyle o' an eagle about to 
fauld his wings on the cliff. 

North. Tak tent, James. Be wary, or he will escape. 

Shepherd. Never fear, sir. He'll no pit me aff my guard 
by keepin the croon o' the causey in that gate. I ken what 
he's ettlin at — and it's naething mair nor less nor yon island. 
Thinks he to himsel, wi' his tail, " Gin I get abreist o' the 
broom, I'll roun' the rocks, doun the rapids, and break the 
Shepherd." And nae sooner thocht than done — but bauld in 
my cork -jacket — 

North. That's a new appurtenance to your person, James ; 
I thought you had always angled in bladders. 

Shepherd. Sae I used — but last season they fell doun to ray 



Plays his Salmon. 435 

heels, and had nearly drooned me — sae I trust noo to my 
bodyguard. 

North. I prefer the air life-preserver. 

Shepherd. If it bursts you're gone. Bauld in my cork-jacket, 
I took till the soomin, haudin the rod aboon my head — 
• North. Like Caesar his Commentaries. 

Shepherd. And gettin iittin on the bit island — there's no a 
shrub on't, you ken, aboon the .waistband o' my breeks — I 
was just in time to let him easy ower the Fa', and Heaven 
safe us ! he turned up, as he played wallop, a side like a 
house ! He fand noo that he was in the hauns o' his maister, 
and began to loss heart ; for naethin cows the better pairt o* 
man, brute, fool, or fish, like a sense o' inferiority. Some- 
times in a large pairty it suddenly strikes me dumb — 

North. But never in the Snuggery, James — never in the 
Sanctum — 

Shepherd. Na, na, na — never i' the Snuggery, never i' the 
Sanctum, my dear auld man ! For there we're a' brithers, 
and keep bletherin withouten ony sense o' propriety — I ax 
pardon — o' inferiority — bein' a' on a level, and that lichtsome, 
like the parallel roads in Glenroy, when the sunshine pours 
upon them frae the tap o' Ben Nevis. 

North. But we forget the fish. 

Shepherd. No me. I'll remember him on my deathbed. 
In body the same, he was entirely anither fish in sowl. He 
had set his life on the hazard o' a die, and it had turned up 
blanks. I began first to pity, and then to despise him — for 
f"ae a fish o' his appearance I expeckit that nae ack o' his 
life wad hae sae graced him as the closin ane — and I was 
pairtly wae and pairtly wrathfu' to s^e him dee saft! Yet, to 
do him justice, it's no impossible but that he may hae druv 
his snout again' a stane, and got dazed — and we a' ken by 
experience that there's uaething mair likely to calm courage 



436 The Last Leap. 

^han a brainin knock on the head. His organ o' locality had 
gotten a clour, for he lost a' judgment atween wat and dry, 
and came floatin, belly upmost, in amang the bit snail-bucky- 
shells on the sand around my feet, and lay there as still 
as if he had been gutted on the kitchen-dresser — an enormous 
fish. 

North. A sumph. 

Shepherd. No sic a sumph as he looked like — and that 
you'll think when you hear tell o' the lave o' the adventure. 
Bein' rather out o' wund, I sits doun on a stane, and was 
wipin ma broos, wi' ma een fixed upon the prey, when a' on 
a sudden, as if he had been galvaneesed, he stotted up intil 
the lift, and wi' ae squash played plunge into the pool, and 
awa doun the eddies like a porpus. I thocht I should hae 
gane mad, Heaven forgie me — and I fear I swore like a 
trooper. Loupin wi' a spang frae the stane, I missed ma feet, 
and gaed head-ower-heels intil the water — while amang the 
rushin o' the element I heard roars o' lauchter as if frae the 
kelpie himsel, but what afterwards turned out to be guffaws 
frae your friens Boyd and Juniper Bank,^ wha had been wut- 
nessin the drama frae commencement to catastrophe. 

North. Ha ! ha ! ha ! James ! it must have been excessively 
droll. 

Shepherd, Risin to the surface wi' a guller, I shook ma 
nieve at the neerdoweels, and then doun the river after the 
sumph o' a saumon, like a verra otter. FoUowin noo the 
sicht and noo the scent, I wasna lang in comin up wi' him 
— ^for he was as deid as Dawvid — and lyin on his back, I pro- 
test, just like a man restin himsel at the soomin. I had for- 
gotten the gaff — so I fastened ma tooth intil the shouther o' 
him — and like a Newfoundlan' savin a chiel frae droonin, I 



* INIessrs. Boyd of Innerleitlien and Thorburn of Juniper Bank, a farm 
on Tweedside. 



The SheijJierd on Shakespeare. 437 

bare him to the shore, while, to do Boyd and Juniper justice, 
the lift rang wi' acclamations. 

North. What may have been his calibre ? 

Shepherd. On puttin him intil the scales at nicht, he just 
turned three stane tron. 

Tickler {stretching himself out to an incredible extent^. Alas ! 
'twas but a dream ! 

Shepherd. Was ye dreamin, sir, o' bein' hanged ? 

Tickler (^recovering hisjirst position). Eh ! 

North. " So started up in his own shape the Fiend." We 
have been talking, Timothy, of Shakespeare's Seven Ages. 

Tickler. Shakesj^eare's Seven Ages. 

Shepherd. No Seven Ages — but rather seven characters. 
Ye dinna mean to mainteen that every man, afore he dees, 
maun be a sodger and a justice o' the peace ? 

Tickler. Shepherd versus Shakespeare — Yarrow versus 
Avon. 

Shepherd. I see no reason why me, or ony ither man o' 
genius, michtna write just as weel's Shakspeer. Arena we a' 
mortal ? Mony glorious glints he has, and surpassin sun- 
bursts — but oh ! sirs, his plays are desperate fu' o' trash — 
like some o' ma earlier poems — 

Tickler. The Queen's Wake is a faultless production. 

Shepherd. It's nae sic thing. But it's nearly about as 
perfeck as ony work o' human' genius ; whereas Shakspeer's 
best plays, sic as Hamlet^ Lear^ and Othello, are but Strang 
daubs — 

Tickler. James — 

Shepherd. Are they no, Mr. North ? 

North. Rather so, my dear Shepherd. But what of his 
Seven Ages ? 

Shepherd. Nothing — except that they're very poor. What's 
the first.'' 



438 ■ The First 

North.— 

" At first tlie infant, 
Mewling and puking in its nurse's arms ! " 

Shepherd Weel, then, the verra first squeak or skirl o' a 
newborn wean in the house, that, though little louder nor 
that o' a rotten, fills the entire tenement frae grun'-wark to 
riggin, was far better for the jDurposes o' poetry than the 
mewlin and pukin — for besides bein' onything but disgustfu' 
though sometimes, I alloo, as alarmin as unexpected, it is the 
sound the young Roscius utters on his first appearance on 
any stage ; and on that latter account, if on nae ither, should 
hae been seleckit b}'' Shakspeer. 

North. Ingenious, James. 

Shepherd. Or the moment when it is first pitten,* trig as 
a bit burdie, intil its father's arms. 

Tichler. A man-child — the imp. 

Shepherd. Though noo sax feet f owQr, you were then your 
sel, Tickler, but a span lang — ^little mair nor the length o' 
your present nose. 

Tickler. 'Twas a snub. 

Shepherd. As weel tell me that a pawrot, when it chips the 
shell, has a strecht neb. 

Tickler. Or that a hog does not show the cloven foot till he 
has learnt to grunt. 

Shepherd. Neither he does — for he grunts the instant he's 
farrowed — like ony Christian — sae you're out again there, 
and that envenomed shaft o' satire fa's to the grun'. 

North. No bad blood, gents ! 

Shepherd. Weel, then — or, when yet unchristened, it lies 
awake in the creddle — and as its wee dim een meet yours, as 
you're look in doun to kiss't, there comes strangely ower its 
bit fair a something joyfu', that love construes intil a smile 

* Pitten~-}^ut. 



f 



Of the Seven Ages. 439 

TicTcler. " Beautiful exceedingly." Hem. 

Shepherd. Or, for the first time o' its life in lang-claes, held 
up in the hush o' the kirk, to be bapteesed — while 

Tickler. The moment the water touches its face, it falls into 
a fit of fear and rage — 

Shepherd. Sune stilled, ye callous carle, in the bosom o' ane 
o' the bonny lassies sittin on a furm in the transe, a' dressed 
in white, wha wi' mony a silent hushaby lulls the lamb, noo 
ane o' the flock, into haly sleep. 

Tickler. Your hand, my dear James. 

Shepherd. There. Tak a gude grup, sir, for in spite o' that 
sneerin,- you've a real gude heart. 

North. This is the second or third time, my dear James, 
that we have been cheated by some chance or other out of 
your Seven Ages. But hark ! the timepiece strikes nine — 
and we must away to the Library. Two hours for dinner in 
the Saloon — two for wine and walnuts in the Snuggery — then 
two for tea-tea and coffee-tea in the Library — and finally, two 
in the blue-parlor for supper. Such was the arrangement for 
the evening. So lend me your support, my dear boys — we 
shall leave our curricles behind us — and start pedestrians. I 
am the lad to show a toe. \_Exeunt, 



XXV. 

IN WHICH NORTH ERECTS HIS TENT IN THE FAIRY'S 
CLEUGH, AND IS CRO WNED KING OF SCOTLAND 
BY THE FOREST WORTHIES. 

Scene I. — Tent in the Fairy's Gleiigh. North and the 
Registrar * lying on the hrae. {In attendance, Am- 
brose and his Taih) 

Registrar. And here we are in the Fairy's Cleugh, among 
the mountains of — 

North. Peeblesshire, Dumfriesshire, Lanarkshire,, for here 
all three counties get inextricably entangled ; yet in their 
pastoral peace they quarrel not for the dominion of this nook, 
central in the hill-heart, and haunted by the Silent People. 

Registrar. You do not call us silent people 1 Why, you 
ouL-talk a spinning-jenny, and the mill-clapper stops in despair 
at the volubility of your speech. 

North. Elves, Sam — Elves. Is it not the Fairy's Cleugh ? 

Registrar. And here have been " little feet that print the 
ground." But I took them for those of hares — 

North. These, Sam, are not worm-holes — nor did Mole the 
miner upheave these pretty little pyramids of primroses — for 

* " The Registrar " was Mr. Samuel Anderson, formerly of the firm of 
Brougham and Anderson, wine merchants, Edinburgh. He afterwards ob- 
tained from Lord Chancellor Brougham (his partner's brother) the appoint- 
ment of Registrar of the Court of .Chancery. He was an esteemed friend 
of Professor AVilsoa's, and a general favorite in society. He died in 1849. 
440 



North as a Fairy. 441 

these, Sam, are ^11 Fairy palaces, — and yonder edifice that 
towers above the Lady-Fern — therein now sleeps — let us 
speak low, and disturb her not — the Fairy Queen, waiting for 
the moonlight — and soon as the orb shows her rim rising 
from behind Birk-fell — away to the ring will she be gliding 
with all the ladies of her Court — 

Registrar. And we will join the dance — Kit — 

North. Remember — then — that I am engaged to— - 

Registrar. So am I — three-deep. 

North. Do you know, Sam, that I dreamed a dream ? 

Registrar. You cannot keep a secret, for you blab in your 
sleep. 

North. Ay — both talk *and walk. But I dreamed that I 
eaw a Fairy's funeral, and that I was myself a fairy. 

Registrar. A warlock. 

North. No — a pretty little female fairy not a span long. 

Registrar. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

North. And they asked me to sing her dirge, and then I 
sang — for sorrow in sleep, Sam, is sometimes sweeter than 
any joy — ineffably sweet — and thus comes back wavering 
into my memory the elegiac strain. 

THE FAIRY'S BURIAL. 



"Where shall our sister rest? 

Where shall we bury her ? 
To the grave's silent breast 

Soon we must hurry her ! 
Gone is the beauty now 

From her cold bosom ! 
Down droops her livid brow, 

Like a wan blossom ! 

Not to those white lips cling 

Smiles or caresses ! 
Dull is the rainbow wing, 

Dim the bright tresses ! 



442 TJie Fairy s Burial 



Deatli now Lath claimed his spoil- 
Fling the pall over her ! 

Lap we earth's lightest soil, 
Wherewith to cover her I 



Where clown in yonder vale 

Lilies are growing, 
Mourners the pure and pale 

Sweet tears bestowing t 
Morning and evening dews 

Will they shed o'er her ; 
Each night their task renews 

How to deplore her I 

Here let the fern-grass grow, 

With its green droqping I 
Let the narcissus blow, 

O'er the wave stooping I 
Let the brook wander by, 

Mournfully singing ! 
Let the wind murmur nigh, 

Sad echoes bringing. 



And when the moonbeams shower^ 

Tender and holy, 
Light on the haunted hour 

Which is ours solely, 
Then will we seek the spot 

Where thou art sleeping, 
Holding thee uncf orgot 

With our long weeping I 



Amorose (rushing out of the Tent). Mr. Tickler, sirs, Mr. 
Tickler ! Yonder's his head, and shoulders rising over the 
knoll — in continuation of his herald the rod. 

North {savagely). Go to the devil, sir. 

Ambrose {petrijied). Ah! ha! ha! ah! si — sir — ^pa- 
pa — pard — 

North (unmoUiJied). Go to the devil, I say, sir. Are you 
deaf? 

Ambrose (going, going, gone). I beseech you,Mr. Registrar— 



North is admonisJied. 443 

North {grimly), " How like a fawning publican he looks ! " 

Registrar. A most melancholy example of a truth J never 
believed before, that poetical and human sensibility are alto- 
gether distinct — nay, perhaps incompatible ! North, forgive 
me (North grasps the crutch) ; but you should be ashamed of 
yourself — nay, strike, hit hear me I 

North {smiling after a sort). Well — Themistocles. 

Registrar. You awaken out of a dream-dirge of Faery 
Land — where you, by force of strong imagination, were a 
female fairy, not a span long — mild as a musical violet, if 
one might suppose one, " by a mossy stone half-hidden from 
the eye," inspired with speech. 

North. I feel the delicacy of the compliment. 

Registrar. Then you feel something very different, sir, I 
assure you, from what I intended, and still intend, you shall 
feel; for your treatment of my friend Mr. Ambrose was 
hocking. 

North. I declare on my conscience, I never saw Ambrose ! 

Registrar. What ! aggravate your folly by falsehood ! 
Then are you a lost man — and — 

North. I thought it a stirk staggering in upon me at the 
close of a stanza that — 

Registrar. And why did you say " sir " ? Nay — nay — that 
won't pass. From a feijiale fairy, not a span long, " and even 
the gentlest of all gentle things," you suffer yourself to trans- 
form you into a Fury six feet high ! and wantonly insult a 
man who would not hurt the feelings of a wasp ! 

North {humbly). I hope I am not a wasp. 

Registrar. I hope not, sir ; but permit me, who am not one 
of your youngest friends, to say to you confidentially, that 
you were just now very unlike a bee. 

North {hiding his face with both his hands). All sting — and 
no honey. Spare me, Sam. 



444 He apologizes. 

Registrar. I will. But the world would not have credited 
it, had she heard it with her own ears. Are you aware, sir, 
that you told Mr. Ambrose " to go to the devil " ? 

North {agitated). And has he gone ? 

Registrar (beckoning on Ambrose, who advances). Well, 
Ambrose ? 

Worth. Ambrose ! Do you forgive me? 

Ambrose, (falling on one knee). No — no — no — my dear 
sir — my honored master — 

North. Alas ! Ambrose — I am not even master of myself. 

Ambrose. It was all my fault, sir. I ought to have looked 
first to see if you were in the poetics. Such intrusion was 
most unpardonable — for {smiling and looking down) shall 
mere man obtrude on the hour of inspiration — when 

** The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, 
Glances from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven. 
And as imagination bodies forth. 
The form of things unknown, turns them to shape, 
And gives to airy nothing 
A local habitation and a name." 

Registrar. Who suffers, Ambrose ? 

Ambrose. Shakespeare, sir. Mr. Tickler ! Mr. Tickler ! Mr. 
Tickler ! (catching up his voice) Mr. Tick — 

Registrar. Yea — verily — and 'tis no other ! 

Tickler (stalking up the brae — roddn hand — and creel on his 
shoidder — with his head well laid back — and his nose pretty per- 
pendicular with earth and sky). Well — boys — what's the 
news ? And how are you off for soap ? How long here ? 
Ho ! ho ! The Tent. 

North. Since Monday evening — and if my memory serve 
me right, this is either Thursday or Friday. Whence, 
Tim? 

Tickler. From the West. But is there any porter ? 

Ambrose (striving to draw). Ay — ay — sir. 



An'ival of Ticlder. 445 

Tickler. You may as well try to uproot that birk. Give it 
me. 

\_Put the hottle between his feet — stoops — and lays on Mi 
strength. 

Registrar {jogging North). Ob! for George Cruiksbank! 

Tickler {loud explosion and much smoke). The Jug. 

Ambrose. Here, sir. 

Tickler {teeming). Brown stout. Tbe porter's in spate. 
The Queen ! 

Omnes. Hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! 
hurra ! hurra ! 

A7nbrose. Hip — hip — hip — 

Registrar. Hush ! 

TicJder. Hech ! That draught made my lugs crack. Oh! 
Kit ! — there was a grand ploy at Paisley. 

Ambrose. Dinner on the table, sir, 

North, As my old friend Crewe — the University Orator at 
Oxford — concludes his fine poem of Lewesdon Hill 

" To-morrow for severer thought, but now 
To dinner, and keep festival to-day." 

Scene n. — Timej — Four o^ Clock. 

Scene changes to the interior of the tent. Dinner — Salmon— 
Turbot — Trout — Cod — Haddocks — Whitings — Tui^key — 
Goose — Veal-pie — Beaf steak ditto — Chicken — Ham — 
The Round— Damso/i, Cherry, Currant, Grozet (this yekr's) 
Tarts, Sj-c, Sfc, Sj-c, 

Scene IH. — Time, — Five o^ Clock. 

Without change of place. Dessert — Melons — Grapes — Grozets 
— Pine-apples — Golden Pippins — New Yorkers — Filberts 
— Hazels. Wines — Champagne — Claret — Port — Madeira 



446 The Fairy s Cleugh. 

— Cold Punch in the Dolphin — Glenlivet in the. 
Tower of Babel — Water in the Well. 



North. Ambrose, tuck up the tent-door. Fling it wide 
open. [Ambrose lets in heaven. 

Registrar. " Beautiful exceedingly ! " 

North. Ne'er before was tent pitched in the Fairy's Cleugh ! 
I selected the spot from a memory, v/here lie many thousand 
worlds — ^great and small — and of the tiny not one sweeter, 
sure, than this before our eyes ! 

Registrar. I wonder how — by what fine process — you 
chose ! Yet why, might I ask my own heart — why now do 
I fix on one face, one form, and see but them — ^haunted as 
iny imagination might be with the images of all the loveliest 
in the land ? 

TicTder. Sam 1 you look as fresh as a daisy. 

North. That is truly a vista. Those hills — for we must not 
call them mountains — how gently they come gliding down 
from the sky, on each side of the vale-like glen! — 

Registrar. Vale-like glen ! Thank you, North — that is the 
very word. 

North. separated but by no wide level of broomy 

greensward — ^if that be a level, broken as you see it with fre- 
quent knolls — ^most of them rounded softly off into pastures 
some wooded, and here and there one with but a single tree, 
tliQ white-stemmed, sweet-scented birk — 

Registrar. Alwaj^s lady -like with Her delicate tresses, how 
ever humble her birth. 

North. Should we say that the " spirit of the scene" is 
sylvan or pastoral ? 

Registrar. Both. 

North. Sam ! how is it I see no sheep ? 

Registrar. Sheej? and lambs there must be many — ^latent 



Cuckoo ! Quckoo ! 447 

somewhere ; and I have often noticed, sh', a whole green 
region without a symptom of life, though I knew that it was 
not a store-farm, and that there must be some hundred scores 
of the woolly people within startling of the same low mut- 
ter of the thunder-cloud. 

North. How soon a rill becomes a river! 

Registrar. A boy a man 1 

North, That is the source of the Woodburn, Sam, that 
well within five yards of our tent. 

Registrar. How the Naiad must be enjoying the wine- 
cooler ! Imbibing — inhaling the aroma, yet returning more 
than she receives, and tinging the taste of that incomparable 
claret — vintage 1811 — with her own sweet breath! 

North. Cuckoo ! cuckoo ! cuckoo I — Yonder she goes ! — 
see, see, Sam ! — flitting along the faint blue haze on the hill- 
side, across the burn. In boyhood, never could I catch a 
glimpse of the bird any more than Wordsworth. 

" For tliou wert still a hope ! — a joy 
Still longed lor, never seen." 

But so 'tis with us in our old age. All the mysteries that 
held our youth in v\^onderment, and made life poetry, dissolve 
— and we are sensible that they were all illusions ; while 
other mysteries grow more awful ; and what we sometimes 
hoped, in the hour of passion, might be illusions, are seen to 
be God's own truths, terrible to sinners, and wearing a 
ghastly aspect in the gloom of the grave ! 

Tickler. Cuckoo ! cuckoo ! cuckoo ! 

North. She has settled again on some spray — for she is 
always mute as she flies ! And I have stood right below 
her, within three yards of her anomalous ladyship, as, down 
head and up tail, with v/ings slightly opening from her sides, 
and her leathers shivering, siie took far and wide possession 
of the stilJness with lier voice, mellow as if she lived oi 



448 The Elf-Well 

honey ; and indeed I suspect, Sam — though the bridegroom 
eluded my ken — that with them two 'twas the honeymoon. 

Ambrose (rusJting into the Tent^ stark naked, except his flan- 
nel drawers). Hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! — hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! — 
hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! Who'll dance — who'll dance with me 
— waltz — jig — Lowland reel — Highland fling — gallopade ? 
Hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! {Keeps dancing round the Tent table, 
j/elli?ig, and snapping his fingers.) 

North. Be seated, gentlemen — I see how it is — he has 
been drinking of the elf-well, up among the rocks behind the 
Tent, and human lip never touched that cold stream, but 
man or woman lost his or her seven senses, and was insane 
for life. 

Registrar. A pleasant prospect. 

Tickler. That may be — but, confound me, if Ambrose be 
the man to be caught in that kind of trap. Where's the 
Tower of Babel ? 

North. There ! 

Ambrose {pirouetting). Look yonder, mine honored mas- 
ter, through those rocks. 

North. Nay, Brose, I can see as far through a millstone, or 
a milestone either, as most men, but as for looking through 
rocks — 

Ambrose. I saw him, with these blessed eyes of mine, I saw 
him on horseback, sir, driving down the hill yonder, sir, at 
full gallop — 

North. Whom ? — ye saw whom ? 

Ambrose. Himself, sir — his very own self, sir — as I hope to 
be saved. 

Registrar. I fear his case is hopeless. Those sudden 
accesses are fatal. 

Tickler. Who, his drawers will be at his heels if — 

Ambrose {somewhat subsiding) » I had gone into the dookin, 



Tlie Wild Huntsman ! 449 

gentlemen, as you say in Scotland, and was ploutering about 
in the pool, when, just as I had squeezed the water out of 
my eyes after a plunge, I chanced to look up the hillside, 
and there I saw him — with these blessed eyes I saw him — 
his own very self. 

{Horses'' lioofs heard at full gallop nearing the Tent. 
Tickler. The Wild Huntsman ! 

[Horse and rider charge the Tent — horse all of a sudden 
halts — thrown hack on his haunches — and rider, flying 
over his head, alights on his feet — while his foraging cap 
spins over the Lion''? fiery mane, noto drooping in the after- 
noon calm from the mast-head. * 

Omnes. The Shepherd ! The Shepherd ! The Shep- 
herd ! hurra 1 hurra ! hurra! hurra ! hurra ! hurra I hurra! 
hurra ! hurra ! 

Shepherd. Hurraw ! hurraw ! hurra w ! 

North (white as a sheet, and seeming about to swoon). "Water ! 

Shepherd. Whare's the' strange auld tyke ? Whare's the 
queer auld fallow ? Whare's the canty auld chiel ! Whare's 
the dear auld deevil ? Oh ! North — North — North — North 
— ma freen — ma brither — ma faither — let's tak ane anither 
intil ane anither's arms — let's kiss ane anither's cheek — as 
the guid cheevalry knichts used to do — when, ha'in fa'en out 
aboot some leddy-luve, or some disputed laun', or some king's, 
changefu' favor, or aiblins aboot naething ava but the stnpit 
lees o' some evil tongues, they happened to forgather when 
riding opposite ways through a wood, and flingin themsels, 
wi' ae feeling and ae thocht, aff their twa horses, cam clashin 
thegither wi' their mailed breists, and began sobbin in the 
silence o' the auncient aiks that were touched to their verra 
cores to see sic formveness and sic affection atween thae twa 
stalwart champions, wha, though baith noo weepin like weans 
or women, had aften ridden side by side thegither, wi' shields 



450 The Feud is healed. 

on their breists and lang lances shootin far out fearsomely 
afore them, intil the press o' battle, while their chargers, red- 
wat-shod, gaed gallopin wi' their hoofs that never ance 
touched the grun' for men's faces bashed bluidy, and their 
sodden corpses squelchin at every spang o' the flying dragoons. 
But what do I mean by all this talkin to mysel ? — Pity me — 
Mr. North — but you're white's a ghaist ! Let me bear ye 
in my airms until the TeDt. 

[Shepherd carries Korth into the Tent. 

North. I was much to blame, James — but — 

Shepherd. I was muckle mair to blame mysel nor you, sir, 
and^ — 

North. Why, James, it is by no means improbable that you 
were — 

Shepherd. O ye auld Autocrat ! But will ye promise me^ 
gin I promise ye — 

North. Anything, James, in the power of mortal man to 
perform. 

Shepherd. Gie's your haun ! Noo repeat the words after 
me — (North keeps earnestly repeating the words) — I swear, in 
this Tent pitched in the Fairy's Cleugh, in presence o' 
Timothy Tickler and Sam An — 

North. They are not in the Tent. 

Shepherd. I wasna observin. That's delicate. That IwuU 
"never breathe a whusper even to ma ain heart — at the lane- 
liest hour o' midnicht — except it be when I am sayin my 
prayers — dinna sab, sir — o' ony misunderstaunin that ever 
happened atween us twa — ^either about Mawga, or ony ither 
toppic — as lang's I leeve — an' am no deserted by my senses 
—but am left in fn' possession o' the gift o' reason ; an' I noo 
dicht aff the tablets o' my memory ilka letter o' ony ugly 
record, that the enemy, takin advantage o' the corruption o' 
our fallen natur — contreeved to scarify there, wi' the pint o' 



How the News Sjjread. 451 

an airn pen— red-het f rae joii wicked place — I noo dicht them 
a' aff, just as I dicht aff frae this table thae wine-draps wi' 
ma sleeve — and I forgio ye frae the verra bottom o' ma 
gowl — wi' as perfeck forgiveness — as if you were my aiu 
brither, deein at hame in his fatlier's house — shune after his 
return frae a lang voyage outower the sea I 

[North and the Shepheed again embrace — their faces wax 
exceedingly cheerful — and they sit for a little while without 

. saying a word. 

North. My dear James, have you dined ? 

Shepherd. Dined ? Why, man, I've had ma fowre-hours. 
But I maun tell ye a' about it. A bit lassie, you see, that 
hiad come to your freen Scottie's to pay a visit to a sister o' 
hers — a servant in the family — that was rather dwinin — frae 
the kintra down about Annadale-wise, past by the T-ent in the 
grey o' the morning, yesterday, afore ony ane o' you were out 
o' the blankets, except a cretur that, frae the description, 
maun hae been Tappytoorie, and she learned frae him that 
the Tent belanged to a great lord they ca'd North^=— Lord 
North — and that he had come out on a shootin and a lishin 
ploy, andjforby, to tak a plan o' a' the hills, in order to mak 
a moddle o' them in cork, wi' quicksiller for the lochs and 
rinnin waters, and sheets o' beaten siller for the waterfa's, 
and o' beaten gold for the element at sunset — and that twa 
ither shinin characters were in his rettenue — wham Tappy 
ca'd to her — as she threeped * — Sir Teemothy Tickleham. 
Bart., o' Southside, and the Lord High Registrar o' Lunnon. 
Ma heart lap to ma mouth, and then after some flutterin 
becam as heavy's a lump o' cauld lead. The wife gied me 
sic a smile ! And then wee Jamie was a' the while, in his 
affectionat way, leanin again' ma knee. I took a walk by 
mysel ; and a' was licht. Forthwith I despatched some 

* Threeped— a,s8evted. 



452 The Shepherd on the Road. 

gillies to wauken the Forest. I never steekit an ee, and by 
skreigh o' day * was aff on the beast. But I couldna ken how 
ye micht be fennin f in the Tent for fish, sae I thocht I micht 
as weel tak a whup at the Meggat. Plow they lap ! $ I filled 
ma creel afore the dew-melt ; and as it's out o' the poo'r o' 
ony mortal man wi' a heart to gie ower fishin in the Meggat 
durin a tak, I kent by the sun it was nine-hours, and by that 
time I had filled a' my pouches, the braid o' the tail o' some 
o' them whappin again' my elbows. You'll no be surprised, 
Mr. North — for though you're far f rae bein' sic a gude angler 
as you suppose, and as you cry yoursel up in Mawga, oh ! 
but you're mad fond o't — that I had clean forgotten the beast ! 
After a lang search I fand him a mile doun the water, and 
ma certes, for the next twa hours the gress didna grow aneath 
his heels. I took a hantle o' short cuts, for I ken the kintra 
better than ony fox. But I forgot I wasna on foot — the 
beast gotblawn, and coming up the Fruid, § reested wi' me on 
Garlet-Dod. The girth burst — aff fell the saddle, and he 
fairly Taid himsel doun ! I feared he had brak his heart, and 
couldna tliink o' leavin him, for, in his extremity, I kent the 
raven o' Gameshope wad hae picked out his een. Sae I just 
thocht I wad try the Fruid wi' the flee, and put on a pro- 
fessor. II The Fruid's fu' o' sma' troots, and I sune had a 
string. I couldna hae had about me, at this time, ae way 
and ither, in ma several repositories, string and a,' less than 
thretty dizzen o' troots. I heard the yaud nicherin, and 
kent he had gotten second wun', sae having hidden the 
saddle among the brackens, munted, and lettin him tak it 
easy for the first half-hour, as I skirted Earlshaugh holms I 
got him on the haun -gallop, and I needna tell you o' the 



* STcreigh 6* day— \>rea,}s- of 6a,j. t Fennin — ^faring. 

X Zap— leaped. § A tributary of the Tweed. 

II A fly, so called after Professor Wilson. 



■ Tickler is " trotted:' 453 

Arab-like style in which I feenally brocht him in, for, -con- 
sidering that I carried wecht, you'll alloo he wad be cheap 
at a hunder guineas, and for that soum, sir, the beast's your 
ain ! — Rax me ower the jug. — But didna I see a naked 



man 



? 



\_Re-enter Tickler and the Registar 

Tickler. O King of the Shepherds, may^t thou live foi 
ever ! 

Shepherd (loohing inquisitively to North). Wha's he that^ 
{Turning to Tickler) — Sir 1 you've the advantage of me — for 
I really cannot say that'I ever had the pleasure o' seein you 
atween the een afore ; but you're welcome to our Tent — sit 
doun, and gin ye be dry, tak a drink. 

Registrar. J ames ? 

Shepherd. Ma name's no James. But what though it was ? 
Folk shouldna be sae familiar at first sight. To North in an 
undertone^ — A man o' your renown, sir, should really be mair 
seleck. 

Tickler. I beg pardon, sir — but I mistook you for that half- 
witted body, the Ettrick Shepherd. 

Shepherd. Ane can pardon ony degree o' stoopidity in a 
fallow that has sunk sae laigh in his ain esteem, as weel's in 
that o' the warld, as to think o' retreevin his character by 
pretendin to pass himsel aff, on the mere strength o' the 
length o' his legs, for sic an incorrigible ne'er-do-weel as 
Timothy Tickler. But let me tell you, you had better keep 
a gude tongue in your head, or I'll maybe tak you by the cuff 
o' the neck, and turn ye out o' the Tent. 

North to the (Shepherd in an undertone?) Trot him, James, 
— trot him — he's sensitive. 

Shepherd. You maybe ken him? Is't true that he's gotten 
intil debt, and that Southside's adverteezed ? 

Tickler (coloring). It's a lie. 



464 The Lord High Regi%irar: 

Shepherd. That pruves it to be true. Nay, it amaist, too, 
pruves you to be Tickler. Oh ! nae mair nonsense — nae mair 
nonsense, sir — Southside, Southside — but I'm happier to see 
you, sir, than tongue can tell — ^^but as the heart knoweth its 
am bitterness, sae knoweth it its ain sweetness too ; and noo 
tliat I'm sittin again atween you twa {putting one arm over 
Christopher's shoulder, and one over Timothy's, starting 
up and rushing round the circular) — " gude faith, I'm like to 
greet." Sam ! Sam ! Sam ! 

Registrar. God bless you, James. 

Shepherd. And hae ye come a' the way frae Lunnon to the 
Fairy's Cleugh ? And werena ye intendin to come out to 
Altrive to see the auld Shepherd ? Oh ! but we were a' glad, 
man, to hear o' your appointment, though nane o' us ken 
very distinckly the nature o't, some sayin they had made you 
a Bishop, only without a seat among the Lords, some a Judge 
o' the Pleas ; and there was a sugh for a while — but frae 
you're bein' here the noo, during the sittin o' Parliament, 
that canna weel be true — that the King, by the recommenda- 
tion o' Lord Broom and Vox, had appointed you his Premier, 
on the death o' Yearl Grey ; but tell me, was the lassie richt 
after a' in denominatin ye, on the authority o' Tappytoorie, 
Lord High Registrar o' Lunnon, and is the post a sinecure, 
and a free gift o' the Whigs ? 

Registrar. That, James, is my appointment — but 'tis no 
sinecure. The duties are manifold, diificult, and important. 

North. I wish somebody would knock me down for a song. 

Shepherd. I'll do that — but recollect — nae fawsettoes — I 
canna thole fawsettoes — a very tailor micht be ashamed o* 
fawsettoes — for fawsettoes mak ye think o' something less 
than the ninety-ninth pairt o' a man- — and that's ten times 
less than a tailor — and amaist naething ava — sae that the 
man vanishes intil a pint. Nae fawsettoes. 



Studies from the Antique. 455 

(North sings " Sam Anderson.''^) 

Tickler. That must be all Greek to you, James. 

Registrar. The less you say, the better, Tim, about Greek. 
The Shepherd was not with us when I sung a scrap of old 
Eubulus — but — 

Shepherd. I have been studyin the Greek for twa wunters."^ 
Wunter afore last I made but sma' progress, and got but a 
short way ayont the roots — for the curlin cam in the way — • 
but this bygane wunter there was nae ice in the Forest — or 
at Duddistane either— and I maistered, during the lang nichts 
at hame, an incalculable crood o' dereevative vocables, and a 
hantle o' the kittlest compounds. 

Registrar. What grammars and lexicons do you use, Shep- 
herd ? 

Shepherd. Nane but the maist common. I hae completed 
a version o' Theocritus, and Bion, and Moschus — no to men- 
tion Anacreon ; and gin there's nae curlin neist wunter either 
— and o' that there's but sma' chance, for a change has been 
gradually takin place within these few years, in the ellipse o' 
the earth — I suspect about the ecliptic — I purpose puttin a' 
ma strength upon Pindar. His Odds are dark — but some 
grand, as ane o' thae remarkable simmer-nichts when a' below 
is lown, and yet there is storm in heaven, the moon glimps- 
ing by fits through cluds, and then a' at ance a blue spat fu' 
o' stars. 

North. The Theban Swan — 

Shepherd I'm ower happy to sing this afternoon, but I'm 
able, I think, to receet ; and here's ane o' my attempts on an 
Eedle o' Bion — the third Eedle — get the teetle frae Tickler. 

Tickler. Third Idyl of Bion. 

* ** I canna read Greek," tlie Shepherd had said on aii^ earlier evening 
" except in a Latin translation done into English." 



456 An Idyl of Bion. 

(Shepherd recites. 

Great Yenus once appeared to me, still slumbering in my bed, 

And Cupid in her beauteous band, a tottering child she led ; 

And thus with winning words she spake, " See, Cupid here I bring. 

Ob, take him ! shepherd dear to me, and teach him how to sing ! " 

She disappeared, and I began, a babj' in my turn. 

To teach him all the shepherd's songs— as though he meant to learn, 

How Pan the crooked pipe found out, Minerva made the flute, 

How Hermes struck the tortoise-shell, and Phoebus formed the lute. 

All this T taught, but little heed gave Cupid to my speech ; 

Then he himself sweet carols sung, and me began to teach 

The loves of God and men, and all his mother did to each. 

Then I forgot what I myself to Cupid taught before : 

But all the songs he taught to me, I learnt them evermore ! 

North. Quite in the style of Trevor, who did such fine 
versions for my articles on the Greek Anthology. 

Shepherd. I canna mak out, Mr. North, the cause o' the 
effect o' novelty as a source o' pleasure. Some objects aye 
please, however common. 

Tickler. Don't prose, Jamie. 

Shepherd. Ass I There's the Daisy. Naebody cares muckle 
about the Daisy — till you ask them — and then they feel they 
hae aye liked it, and quote Burns. Noo naebody tires o' 
the daisy. A' the warld would be sorry gin a' daisies were 
dead. 

Tickler. Puir auld silly body. 

Shepherd. There again are Dockens. What for are they a 
byword ? Theyre saft, and sio-ooth, and green, and hae nae 
bad smell. Yet a' the warld would be indifferent were a' 
dockens dead. 

Tickler. I would rather not. 

Shepherd. What for ? Would a docken, think ye, Mr, 
North, be " beauteous to see, a weed o' glorious feature," if 
it were scarce and a hot-house plant ? Would leddies and 
gentlemen, gin it were ony ways an unique, pay to get a 



The Loving Ways of Dogs. 457 

look at a docken ? But I fin' that I'm no thrawin ae single 
particle o' licht on the subjeck ; and the perplexing question 
will aye recur, " Why is the daisy, though sae common, never 
felt to be commonplace ? and the docken aye ? " 
Tickler. The reason, undoubtedly, is — 
Shepherd. Hand your arrogant tongue, Southside, and never 
again, immediately after I hae said that ony metapheezical 
subjeck's perplexing, hae the insolence and the silliness to say, 
" The reason, undoubtedly, is." If it's no coorse, it's rude — 
and a man had better be coorse nor rude ony day — but oh, 
Birs, what'n a pity that in the Tent there are nae dowgs ! 
TicJder. I hate curs. 

Shepherd. A man ca'in himsel a Christian, and hatin poetry 
and dowgs ! 

Tickler. Hang the brutes. 

Shepherd. There's nae sic perfeck happiness, I suspeck, sir, 
as that o' the brutes. No that I wuss I had been born a 
brute — yet af ten hae I been tempted to envy a do wg. What 
gladness in the cretur's een, gin ye but speak a single word 
to him, when you and him's sittin thegither by your twa sels 
on the hill. Pat him on the head, and say, " Hector, ma 
man!" and he whines wi' joy — snap your thooms, and he 
gangs dancing ryund you like a whirlwind — ^gie a whusslin 
hiss, and he loups frantic ower your head — cry halloo, and 
he's aff like a shot, chasing naething, as if he were mad. 
North. Alas ! poor Bronte ! 

Shepherd. Whisht, dinna think o' him, but in general o' 
dowgs. Love is the element a dowg leeves in, and a' that's 
necessary for his enjoyment o' life is the presence o' his 
master. 

Registrar. " With thee conversing, he fprgets all time." 
Shepherd. Yet, wi' a' his sense, he has nae idea o' death. 
True, he will lie upon his master's grave, and even howk wi' 



458 The Wayside Pan. 

his paws in an affeckin manner, but for a' that, believe me, he 
has nae idea o' death. He snokes wi' his nose into the hole 
his j)aws are howkin, just as if he were after a moudiewarp* 

North. God is the soul of the brute creatures. 

Shepherd. Ay, sir — instinct wi' them's the same's reason 
wi' us, — only we ken what we intend — they do not; we 
reflect in a mathematical problem, for example, how best to 
L:g a house ; they reflect nane, but what a house they big ! 
Sir Isaac Newton, o' himsel, without learnin the lesson frae 
the bees, wadna hae contrived a hive o' hinnej'^-combs, and 
biggen them up, cell by cell, hung the creation, like growing 
fruit, on the branch o' a tree ! 

North. You that are a Greek scholar, James, do you 
remember an inscription for a wayside Par, by Alcoeus ? 

Shepherd. I remember the speerit o't, but I forget the words. 
Indeed, I'm no sure if ever I kentthe words ; but that's nae- 
thing — at this moment I feel the inscription in the original 
Greek to be very beautiful ! For sake o' Mr. Tickler, perhaps 
you'll receet it in English? 

North. — 

Wayfaring man, by heat and toil oppress'd, 

Here lay thee down thy languid limbs to rest, 

Upon this flowery meadow's fragrant breast. 

Here the pine leaves, where whispering zepiiyrs stray, 

Shall soothe thee listening to Cigala's lay, 

And on yon mountain's brow the shepherd swain 

Pipes by the gurgling fount his noontide strain, 

Secure beneath the plantane's * leafy spray, 

From the autumnal dog-star's sultry ray. 

To-morrow thou'lt get on, wayfaiing man, 

So listen to the good advice of Pan. 

Shepherd. Thae auncients, had they been moderns, would 
hae felt a' we feel oursels ; and sometimes I'm tempted to 
confess, that in the matter o' expression o' a simple thocht, 

* Plantane — the plane-tree. 



The- Forest is wakened. 459 

tb y ratJier excel us — ^for, however polished may be ony ane 
o heir Jiaist carefu' compositions, it never looks artificial, 
an I the verra finish o' the execution seems to be frae the 
fin ) finger o' Nature's ain inspired sel 1 Oh, how I hate the 
artiiicial ! 

Registrar. Not worse than I- 

Shepherd, Ca' a thing artificial that's no ony sic thing, and 
ye make me like it less and less till I absolutely dislike it ; 
but then the sense o' injustice comes to ma relief, and I love 
it better than afore — as, for example, a leddy o' fine educa- 
tion, or a garden flower. For, I'll be shot, if either the ane 
or the ither be necessarily artificial, or no just as bonny, 
regarded in a richt licht, as a lass or a lily o' low degree. 
Onj ither touchin trifle frae the Greek, sir ? 

North. We have had Pan— now for Priapus. 

Shepherd. Ye maun heed what you say, sir, o' Priawpus. 

North. Archias is alwavs elegant, James. 

Registrar. And often more than elegant. North — ^poetical. 
He had a fine eye, too, sir, for the picturesque. 

North. — 

Near to the shore, upon this neck of land, 

A poor Priapus, here I ever stand. 

Carved in sucli guise, and forced such form to take^ 

As sons of toilsome tishermen could make, 

My feetless legs, and cone-shaped, towering head, 

Fill every cormorarrt with fear and dread- 

But when for aid the fisher breathes a prayer, 

I come more swiftly than the stornS of air. 

I also eye the ships that stem the flood: 

'Tis deeds, not beauty, show the real God. 

[Loud hurras heard from the glen, and repeated by all thi 
echoes. 
North, Heavens J what's that? 

Shepherd. Didna I tell ye I had waukened the Forest ? 
What's twunty, thretty, or fifty miles to the lads and lassies 



460 The Forest Worthies arrive 

o' the South o' Scotland ? Auld women and weans '11 walk 
that atween the twa gloamins, — and haena thej gigs, and 
cartSj and pownies for the side-saddle, and lang bare-backed 
yauds that can carry fower easy — and at a pinch, by haudin 
on by mane and tail, five ? Scores liae been paddin the hoof* 
sin' mornin frae the head o' Clydesdale — Annan-banks hae 
been roused as by the sound o' a trumpet — and the auld Grey 
Mare f has been a' day whuskin her tail wi' pleasure to see 
Moffatdale croudin to the Jubilee. 

[^They all take their station outside on the hrae, and hold 
up their hands. 

North. I am lost in amazement ! 

Tickler. A thousand souls ! 

Registrar. I have been accustomed to calculate the numbers 
of great multitudes — and I fix them at fifteen hundred, men, 
women, and children. 

Shepherd. Twa hunder collies, and, asses and mules in- 
cluded, a hunder horse. 

Registrar. Of each a Turm. 

Shepherd. Oh ! sir, isna't a bonny sicht ? There's a Tredd's 
Union for you, sir, that may weel mak your heart sing for 
joy — shepherds and herdsmen, and ploughmen, and woods- 
men, that wad, if need were, fecht for their kintra. wi* 
Christopher North at their head, against either foreign or 
domestic enemies ; but they come noo to do him homage at 
the unviolated altar w]^ch Nature has erected to Peace. 

Registrar. A band of maidens in the van — unbonneted— 
silken-snooded all. And hark — they sing ! Too distant for 
us to catch the words — but music has its own meanings — 
and only that it is somewhat more mirthful, we might think 
it was a hymn ! 

* Paddin the Aoo/— trudging on foot. 

t The waterfall so called near St. Mary's Loch. 



To crown the King of Sootland! 461 

Shepherd (to Tichler and the Registrar) . Dinna look at him, 
he's greetio. If that sound was sweet, isna this silence 
sublime ? 

Tickler. What are they after now, James ? 

Shepherd. They hae gotten their general orders — and a' the 
leaders ken weel hoo to carry them intil effeck. The phalanx 
is noo breakin into pieces noo, like camstrary* cluds — ae speerit 
inspires and directs a' its miivements, and it is deploying, 
Mr. Tickler, round yon great hie-kirk-looking rocks, intil a 
wide level place that's a perfect circle, and which ye wha 
hae been here the best part o' a week, I'se warrant, ken 
naething about ; for Natur, I think, maun hae made it for 
hersel ; and such is the power o' its beauty, that sittin there 
aften in youth, hae I clean forgotten that there was onyither 
warld. 

Registrar. — 

" Sliaded witli branching palm, the sign of Peace." 

Shepherd. Ay, mony o' them are carrying the boughs o* 
trees — and it's wonderfu' to see how leafy they are so early 
in the season. But Spring, prophetic o' North's visit, has 
festooned the woods. 

Tichler. Not boughs and branches only 

Shepherd. But likewise furms. There's no a few mechanics 
amang them, sir, house-carpenters and the like, and seats 'ill 
be sune raised a' round and round, in an hour or less 
you'll see sic a congregation as you saw never afore, a' sittin 
in an amphitheatre — and aneath a hangin rock a platform — 
and on the platform a throne wi' its regal chair — and in the 
chair wha but Christopher North — and on his head a crown 
o' Flowers — for lang as he has been King o' Scotland — this — 
this is Coronation Day. Hearken to the bawn 1 f 

♦ Comstrary or cams^eerz/— unmanageable. 1 Bawn — ^band. 



XXVI. 

A NIGHT ON THE LEADS OF THE LODGE. 

Scene. — The Leads of the Lodge. Present — North, Tickler. 
the Shepherd, Buller. Time — Evening. 

Shepherd. This fancy beats a*, and pruves o' itsel, sir, that 
you're a poet. In fine weather, leevin on the leeds ! And 
siccan an awnin ! No a threed o' cotton about it, or linen 
either, but dome, wa's, cornishes, and fringes — a' silk. Oh ! 
but she's a tastefu' cretur, that Mrs. Gentle — for I see the 
touch o' her haun in the hangings, the festoonins, the 
droopins o' the draperies — andit'sasair pity that ye twa, who 
are seen to be but ae* speerit, arena likewise ae flesh. Par- 
don the allusion, Mr. North, but you'll never be perfectly 
hap23y till she bears your name, or aiblins you'll tak hers, my 
dear auld sir, and ca' yoursels Mr. and Mrs. North Gentle ; 
or gin you like better to gie hers the precedence, Mr. and Mrs. 
Gentle Christopher North. But either o' the twa would be 
characteristic and euphonous — for you're humane, sir, by 
nature, though by habit rather savage, and a' you want to saften 
vou back into vour orimnaL constitution is to be a husband — 

Tickler. And a father. 

Shepherd. As likely to be that as yoursel, Mr. Tickler, an^ 
likelier too ; and a' the warld would admire to see a bit canty 
Gallant or yellegant lassie trottin at his knee 

* Ae — one. 
462 



The Conservatory. 463 

Tichler. 



" Witli a]l its mother's tenderness, 
And all its father's fixe ! " 

Worth. James, is it not a beautiful panorama ? 

Shepherd. A panorama ! What ? wad you wush to hae a 
panorama o' weans ? 

North. I mean the prospect, James. 

Shepherd. A prospect o' a panorama o' weans ! 

North. Poo — poo — my dear Shepherd — you wilfully mis- 
apprehend ray meaning — look round you over land and sea ! 

Shepherd. I canna look farrer than the leeds. Oh ! but it's 
a beautiful Conservatory ! I never afore saw an Orange-tree. 
And it's true what I hae read o' them — blossom and fruit on 
the same plant — ^nae dout an evergreen — and in this caulder 
clime o' ours bricht wi' its gowden ba's as if we were in the 
"Wast Indies ! — What ca' ye thir ? * 

North. These are mere myrtles. 

Shepherd. Mere myrtles ! Dinna say that again o' them — 
mere ; an ungratefu' word, o' a flowery plant a' fu' o' bonny 
white starnies — and is that their scent that I smell ? 

North. The .balm is from many breaths, my dear James. 
Nothing that grows is without fragrance— 

Shepherd. However fent.f I fand that out when a toddler 
— ^for I used to fling awa or drap whatever I pu'd that I 
thocht had nae*Smell — till ae day I began till suspect that the 
faut micht lie in my ain nose, and no in the buds or leaves, 
-—and frae a thousand sma' experiments I was glad to learn 
it was sae- — and that there was scent — as ye weel said the 
noo — in a' that grows. Wasna that kind o' Nature ! Hoc 
else could that real poet, Tamson, hae said, " the air is. 
bawm i " 

Tickler. I desiderate the smell of dinner. 

» TAir— these. t Fent—taimt. 



46-1 *' Help yourself, Jamesy 

Shepherd. What'n a sensual sentiment! The smell o* 
vittals is delicious whan the denner's gettin dished, and 
during the time o' eatin, but for an hour or mair after the 
cloth has been drawn, the room to ma nose has »aye a close 
het smell, like that o' ingans. It's no the custom o' the 
kintra to leeve wi' the leddies — but nae drawin-room like the 
leeds. — What'n frutes ! 

North. Help yourself, James. 

Shepherd. I'll thank ye, Mr. Tickler, to rax me ower thae 
oranges. 

Tickler. They are suspiciously dark in the color — but 
perhaps you like the bitter ? 

Shepherd. They're nae mair ceevil* than yoursel — but 
genuine St. Michaelers — and as they're but sma', half-a-dizzen 
o' them will sharpen the pallet for some o' thae American 
aipples that never put ane's teeth on edge — which is mair 
than you can say for Scotch anes, that are noo seldom sweeter 
than scribes. 

Buller. Scribes ? 
Shepherd. Crabs. Mr. North, we maun tak tent what we're 
aboot, for it wouldna answer weel to stoiter ower the edge o' 
the leeds ; nor yet to tummle doun the trap-door stairs. 

North. The companion-ladder, if you please, James. 

Shepherd. Companion-ladder ? I suppose because only ae 
person can climb up at a time — though there' t room aneuch, 
that's true, for severals to fa' doun at ance — but the term's 
nowtical, I ken — and you're a desparate creturfor thinkino' 
the sea. 

North. Would that Tom Cringlef were here — the best 
sketcher of sea-scenery that ever held a pen ! 

* 5eui??e— Garrick's poor pun on being pelted with oranges. 
t Michael Scott, the author of Tom Cringle's Log, was born in Glasgow 
in 1789, and died in 1835. 



The Preliminaries. 46o 

Buller. Glaseock, sir, can tell, too, a story as well as the 
best of them all — Hall, or Marryat, or Chamier — of the Gun- 
room and the Captain's cabin. 

North. He can — and eke of the Admiral's. Marryat and 
Glascock in a bumper, with all the honors. 

Shepherd, Na. I wunna drink' t. 

North. James I ! ! 

Tickler. What the devil's the matter with you now ? 

Buller. Mr. Hosfg; ! 

Shepherd. If I drink't, may I be — 

North. No cursing or swearing allowed on board this ship. 

Tickler. Call the master-of-arms, and let him get a dozen. 

Shepherd. If ony man says that ever I cursed or sweered 
either in ship or shielin, then he's neither mair nor less than 
a coufoonded leear. Fules ! fales ! fules ! Sumphs ! sumphs ! 
sumphs ! Sops ! sops ! sops ! Saps ! saps ! saps ! Would 
you cram the healths o' twa siccan men, wi' a' the honours, 
intil ae bumper ? Let's drink them separate — and in 
tumblers. 

North. Charge. 

Ticker. Halt. " I wunna drink't." 

Shepherd. I'll no be mocked, Tickler. Besides, that's no 
the least like ma vice. 

Tickler. " I wunna drink't " — ^unless we all quaff, before 
sitting down, another tumbler to Basil Hall. 
North. With all my heart. 

Shepherd. And sowl. 

Buller. And mind. Stap — " I wunna drink't." 

Shevherd. That's real like me — ^for an Enojlisher. 

Tickler. Craziness is catching. 

North. Well said. Son of Isis. 

Buller. Tom Cringle. 

30 



466 The Bumpers are emptied. 

Omnes. Ay, ay, sir. — Ay, ay, sir. — Ay, ay, sir. 

North. Instead of the rule semores priores — to prove our 
equal regard — let us adopt an arithmetical order — and drink 
them in Round Robin. 

\_F our {that is, sixteen) bumper tumblers (not of the higher 
ranks, but the middle orders) are emptied arithmetically, 
with all the honors, to the healths of Captains Cringle^ 
Glascock, Hall, and Marryat. For a season there is 
silence on the leads, and you hear the thrush — 7iear his 
second or third brood — at his evening song. 

Shepherd. Fowre tummlers, taken in instant sequence, o' 
Strang drink, by each o' fowre men — a' fowre nae farder 
back than yestreen sworn-in members o' the left-haun branch 
o' the Temperance Society ! I howp siccan a decided excep- 
tion, while it is pruvin, mayna explode, the general rule. 
The general rule wi' us fowre when we forgather, is to 
drink naething but milk and water — the general exception 
to drink naething but speerits o' wine, — that was a lapsus 
lingy — speerits a?zc?wine. It's a pleasant sicht to see a 
good general rule reconciled wi' a good general exception ; 
and it's my earnest desire to see a' the haill warld shakin 
hauns. 

North. Peter, place my pillows. [Peter does so. 

Shepherd. There's ane geyan weel shued up.* 

Tickler. St. Peter ? I'm Pope. Kiss my toe, James. 

Shepherd. Drink aye maks him clean daft. 

Butler. 'Tis merry in the hall, when beards wag all. Thei 
all took a smack — a smack, at the old black-jack — to the 
sound of the bugle-horn — to the sound of the bugle-horn 
Such airs I hate, like a pig in a gate — ^give me the good old 
strain — and nought is heard on every side but signoras and 
signers — like a pig in a gate, to the sound of the bugle-horn. 

* Shued up— sewed up. 



Peter is cross-examined. 467 

Shepherd. Drink maks him musical — ^yet he seems to re- 
member the words better nor the tune. North ! nae snorin 
alloo'd on the leeds. Tickler ! do you hear ? nae snorin 
alloo'd on the leeds. Buller, pu' baith their noses. Fa'en 
ower too! Noo, I ca' that a tolerable nawsal treeo. It's 
really weel snored. Tickler I you're no keepih time. Kit, 
your'e gettiu out o' tune. Buller, nae fawsettO. Come here, 
Peter, I wush to speak to you. (Peter goes to the Shep- 
herd.) Isna Mr. North gettin rather short in the temper ? 
Haena ye observed, too, a fa'in aff o' some o' his faculties— 
sic as memory — and, I fear, judgment ? And what's this I 
hear o' him ? (whispering Peter.) I do indeed devoutly trust 
it 'ill no get wun' ! (Peter puts his finger to his nose, and 
looking towards North, winks the Shepherd to he mum.) Ye 
needna clap your finger on your nose, and wunk, and screw 
your mouth in that gate, for he's in a safe snorin sleep. 

Peter (indignantly). Mr. Hogg, I trust I shall never be so 
far left to myself as to act in any mafiner unbecoming my 
love, gratitude, and veneration for the best and noblest of 
men and masters. 

Shepherd. You did put your forefinger to your nose — you 
did wunk — ye did screw your mouth — ye did gesticulate 
that ye suspeckit his sleep wasna as real's his snore; — and 
ye did nod yes when I asked you wi' a whusper in your lug 
if it was true that he had taken to tipplin by himsel in the 
forenoons ? 

North {starting up). Ye backbiting hog in armor — but I 
will break your bones— Peter, the crutch ! 

Shepherd. The crutch is safe under lock and key in its ain 
case — and the key's in ma pocket — for you're no in a condi- 
tion to be trusted wi' the crutch. As for backbiting, what 
I said I said afore your face — and if you was pretendin to be 
asleep, let what you overheard be a lesson till you never to 



468 The Antidote. 

act so meanly again, for be assured, accordin to the auld 
apothegm, listeners never hear ony gude o' theirsels. Do 
they, Buller ? 
. Buller. Seldom. 

Shepherd. Do they ever, Tickler ? 

Tickler. Never. 

Shepherd. Then I propose that we all get sober again, 
Peter — the antidote ! It's time we a' took it — for I've seen 
the leeds mair stationary — half-an-hour back, I was lookin 
eastward, but I'm sair mistaen if ma face be na noo due 
wast. 

North. Yes — Peter. [Peter administers the Antidote. 

Shepherd. Wasna that a blessed discovery, Mr. Buller! Ae 
glass o' THE ANTIDOTE taken in time no only remedies the 
past, but ensures the future-r-we may each o' us toss aff ither 
fowre bumper tummlers with the same impunity as we 
despatched their predecessors — and already what a difference 
in the steadiness o' tlffe leeds ! 

Buller. Hermes' Molly ! 

Tickler. The Great Elixir ! 

North. Oh, sweet oblivious^ antidote indeed — for out of 
the grave of memory in bright resurrection rises Hope — and 
on the wings of Imagination the rekindled Senses seem to 
hold command over earth and heaven ! 

Shepherd. Oh coofs — coofs — coofs ! wha abuse the wine- 
bibbers o' the Noctes. 

Buller. Coofs indeed ! 

Shepherd. Never, Mr. Buller, shall they breathe empyrean 
air. 

Buller. Never. 

Shepherd. For them never shall celestial dews distil from 
evening's roseate cloud — 

BuUer. Never. 



The (xlory of the Sunset. 469 

Shepherd. Nor setting suns tlieir fancy ever fill with visions 
born o' golden licht — when earth, sea, cloud, and sky are a' 
interfused wi' ae speerit — and that speerit, sae beautifully 
hushed in high repose, tells o' something within us that is 
divine, and therefore that will leeve for ever ! Look ! look ! 

Buller. Such a sunset ! 

Shepherd. Let nae man daur to word it. It's daurin 
aneuch -even to look at it. For oh ! ma freens ! arena thae 
the gates o' glory — wide open for departed speerits — that 
they may sail in on wings intil the heart o' eternal life ! * 
Let that sicht no be lost on us. 

North. It is melting away. 

Shepherd. Changed — ^gane ! Anither sun has set — surely 
a solemn thocht, sirs — ^yet, come, let's be cheerfu' — Mr. 
North, let me see a smile on your face, man — for, my dear 
sir, I canna thole noo bein' lang melancholy at ae time — for 
every year sic times are growin mair frequent — and I howp 
the bonny Leddy Moon 'ill no be lang o' risin, nor do I care 
whether or no she brings wi' her ane, nane, or teri thousan' 
stars. Here comes the caffee. 

{Enter Ambrose, witJi tea and coffee silver-service.) 

Ambrose. Tea or coffee, sir ? 

Shepherd. Chaclat. Help the rest. Mr. North ? 

North. Sir! 

Shepherd. Is that America, on the other side of the Firth ? 

North. Commonly called the Kingdom of Fife. 

* " Come forth, ye drooping old men, look abroad 

And see to what fair countries ye are bound I 
And if some Traveller, weary of his road, 
Hath slept since noontide on the grassy ground,— 
Ye Genii ! to his covert speed, 
And wake him with such gentle heed 
As may attune his soul to meet the dower 
Bestowed on this transcendent hour ! " 
Wordsworth's Fven'nn Odf. 



470 Over the Water. 

Shepherd. Noo that steam's broclit to perfection, aiblins I 
may mak a voyage there before I dee. Can you assure me 
the natives are no cannibals ? 

North. They are cannibals, James, and will devour you — 
with kindness ; for to be hospitable, free, affectionate, and 
friendly, is to be Fifeish- 

Shepherd. I see through the blue haze toons and villages 
alang the shores, the kintra seems cultivated, but no cleared 
— for yon maun be the wudds o' bonny Aberdour at ween 
whilk and the shore o' Scotland sleep the banes o' Sir Patrick 
Spens and a' his peers. We can write na sic ballant noo-a- 
days as — 

*' The king sat in Dunfermline Tower, 
Drinking tiie blood-red wine." 

The simplest pawthos, sir, sinks deepest in the heart — and 
lies there — far down aneath the fleetin storms o' life — just as 
that, wreck itsel is lyin noo, bits o' weed, and airn, and banes, 
lodged immovably amang other ruefu' matter at the bottom 
o' the restless sea. 

Buller. Exquisite ! 

Shepherd. Eh ! what said ye, sir ? did ye apply that epithet 
to my sentiment, or to your sherry ? 

Buller. To both. United, " they sank like music ia my 
heart." 

She'pherd. Here's to you, Mr. Buller. Did I ever ask, sir, if 
you're ony relation to the Buliers o' Buchan ? * 

Buller. Cousins. 

Shepherd. I thocht sae, sir, frae the sound o' your vice. 

* " On the east coast of Scotland, a few miles south of Peterhead, are the 
Buliers of Buchan, a nearly round basin, about thirty yards wide, formed 
in a hollow rock which projects into the sea, towards which there is an 
arch by which the waves enter. It is open also at the top, round which 
there is a narrow path about thirty yards from the water ; when the sea is 
high in a storm, this scene is exceedingly grand." — Penny Cyclopedia. 



The Sh&pherd in London. 471 

You're a fiue bauld dashin family, and fling the cares o' the 
warld aff frae your sides like rocks. 

BvUer. Scotland seems to me, if possible, improved since 
my last visit — even 

" stately Edinborough, throned on crags' " 

more magnificently wears her diadem. 

Shepherd. Embro' as a town, takiu't by itsel, 's no muckle 
amiss, Jiut I canna help considerin't but a clachan * sin' my 
visit to Lunnon. Mercy on us, what a roar o' life ! Ane 
would think the haill habitable yerth had spewed its haill 
population intil that whirlpool ! or that that whirlpool had 
sookt it a' in — mair like a Maelstrom than a Metropolis. 

North. There's poetry for you ! 

Buller. It is. 

Shepherd. Whales and mennows a' are yonner, sir, dwinnled 
doun or equaleezed intil the same size by the motion o' 
millions, and a' sense o' individuality lost. The verra first 
morning I walked out o' the hotel I clean forgot I was James 
Hogg. 

Buller. Yet, a few mornings after, Mr. Hogg, allow me 
to say, that the object most thought of there was the Ettrick 
Shepherd. 

Shepherd. Na — no on the streets. Folk keepit shoalin 
past me — me iu ate current o' flesh, and them in anither — 
without a single ee ever seemin to see me — -a' een lookin 
straucht forrit — a' faces in full front, — sae that I couldna 
help askin mysel, Will a' this break up — is it a' but the maist 
wonderfu' o' dreams ? 

Bidler. But in the Park. 

Shepherd. Ay ! that was a different story — X cam to my 
seven senses on Sunday in the Park — and I had need o' them 

ClacTian — a small village. 



472 The Shepherd in the Park. 

a* — ^for gif I glowered, they glowered — and wherever I went, 
I coiildna but see that I was the centre — 

Tickler. " The cynosure of neighboring eyes." 

Shepherd. O man ! wheesht. The centre — the navel o* 
the great wheel that keepit circumvolving round, while rays, 
like spokes, innumerable frae leddies' een shot towards me 
frae the circumference, and hadna my heart been pierced, it 
wadhae been no o' wudd, but o' stane. 

North. thou Sabbath breaker ! # 

Shepherd. That thocht saddened me, but I shook it aff, and 
I howp I may be forgiven, for it wasna my ain faut, but the 
faut o' that Lord that munted me on his ain charger, and 
would show me — whether I would or no — in the Dress- 
Rings. 

Tickler. And how were you drsssed, James ? 

Shepherd. Wiser-like than you in your ordinar — ^just in 
the Sabbath claes I gang in to Yarrow kirk. 

North. Simple son of genius ! Buller, is he not a jewel ? 

Butter. He is. 

Shepherd. Fie, lads — think shame o' yoursels — for I ken 
that ahint ma back you ca' me a rouch diamond. 

North. But the setting, my dear James ! How farther were 
you set? 

Shepherd. I hadna on the blue bannet — for I had nae wush 
to be singular, sir — but the plaid was atow^r my shouthers — • 

North. And across your manly breast, my Shepherd, which 
must have felt then and there, as here and now, entitled to 
beat with the pride of conscious genius and worth. 

Shepherd. I shanna say that I wasna proud but I shall 
say that I was happy : for the Englishers I hae ever held to 
be the noblest race o' leevin men except the Scotch — and for- 
by that, sirs, a poet is nae mair a poet in his ain kintra than 
a prophet a prophet ; but yonner.my inspiration was acknowl 



The Shepherd in the Park. 473 

edged, and I thocht mair o' mysel as the owther o' the 
Queen's Wake, iive hunder miles awa frae the forest, than I 
ever had ony visible reason to do sae in the city ower which 
Mary Stuart ance rang,* and in the very shadow o' Holyrood. 

Worth. How you must have eclipsed Count d'Orsay ! f 

Shepherd. I eclipsed nane. There's nae eclipsin yonner — 
for the heaven was a' shinin wi' mony thousan' stars. But the 
sugh went that the Ettrick Shepherd was in the Park — the 
Shepherd o' the Wake, and The Pilgrims, and Kilmeny — 

North. And the Noctes — 

Shepherd. Ay, o' the Noctes — and what were they ever, or 
wad they ever again hae been, withouten your ain auld 
Shepherd ? 

North. Dark — dark — ^irrecoverably dark ! 

Shepherd. Your haun. Thousans o' trees were there — ^but 
a' I kent o' them, as they gaed gliding greenly by, was that 
they were beautifu' ; as for the equipages, they seemed a' ae 
equipage — 

Tickler. Your cortege. 

Shepherd. Wheesht — wheesht — man, wunna ye wheesht ! 
— Representin — containin — a' the wealth, health, rank, 
beauty, grace, genius, virtue o' England — 

Tickler. Virtue ! 

Shepherd. Yes — virtue. Their een were like the een o' 
angels; and if virtue wasna smilin yonner, then 'twould be 
vain to look for her on this side o' heaven. 

North. I fear, my dearest Shepherd, that you forgot the 
Flowers of the Forest. 

Shepherd. Clean. And what for no ? Wasna I a stranger 
in Lunnon ? and would I alloo fancy to flee awa wi' me out 

* J?angr— reigned. 

t This accomplislied gentleman, and leader of the fashion in his day, died 
in 1852. 



47 4 " The FureM for me ! " 

the gates o' Paradise ? Na — she couldna hae dune that, had 
she striven to haii me by the hair o' the head. Oh, sir ! 
sufficient for the hour was the beauty thereof — sowl and 
senses were a' absorbed in what I saw — and I became— 

Tickler. The Paragon of the Park. 

Shepherd. Wull you no fine him, sir, in saut and water? 

North. Silence, Tim ! 

Shepherd. He disturbs one like the Death-Tick. 

North. Well, James ? 

Shepherd. The Forest for me, after a' ! Sae would it hae 
been, sir, even had I been ca'd up to Lunnon in my youth or 
prime. Out o' utter but no lang forgetfulness it would hae 
risen up, stretchin itsel out in a' its length and breadth, wi* 
a' its lochs and mountains, and hills and streams — St, Mary's 
and the Yarrow, the dearest o' them a' — and wafted me alang 
wi't, far aff and awa frae Lunnon, like a man in a warld o' 
his ain, swoomin northward through the air, wi' motion true 
to that ae airt, and no deviatin for sake o' the brichtest 
southern star. 

Buller. Most beautiful. 

Shepherd. If it would hae been sae even then, Mr. Buller, 
hoo much mair maun it hae been sae but some three simmers 
back, when my hair, though a gey dour broon, was yielding to 
the grey ? You was never at Mount Benger, sir, nor Altrive, 
and the mair's the pity, for happy should we a' be to see sic 
I fine, free, freenly fallow — and o' sic bricht pairts — though 
fhe weans michtna just at first follow your English — 

Bidler. For their sakes, my dear Shepherd — forgive my 
familiarity — I should learn their own Doric in a day. 

Shepherd. That you wad, my dear Mr. Buller ; and think n a 
/e, gin if I ever, for a flaff, * in the Park, forgot my ain cosy 
bield, that the thocht on't cam na back on my heart — ay, the 

* Flaff— hyetant. 



A Monosyllable. 475- 

verra sicht o't afore my een — dearer than ever for sake o' the 
wee bodies speerin at their mother when faither was comin 
hame — ^and for sake o' her, who, for my sake, micht at that 
moment be lettin drap a kiss on their heads. 

Tickler. Now that we have seen the Shepherd in the Park, 
pray, James, exhibit yourself at the Play. 

Shepherd. The last exhibition you made o' yoursel, Mr. 
Tickler, at the Play, as you ca't — meanin, I presume, in the 
Playhouse — wasna quite sae creditable as your freens wad 
hae wished — sittin in ane o' the upper boxes wi' a pented 
wax-doll — no to ca' them waur — on ilka haun — 

North. Is that a true bill, Tickler .'' 

Tickler. A lie. 

Shepherd. I never answer that monosyllable * — but canna 
help followin't up, on the present occasion, wi' an apothegm , 
to wit, that a man's morals may be judged by his mainners. 
But I tell you, Mr. North, and you, Mr. BuUer, that 1 was 
in ane of the houses — ance, and but ance ; I gaed there out o' 
regard to some freens, and I ever after staid awa out o' regard 
to mysel — for o' a' the sichts that ever met my een, there 
never was the like o' yon ; and I wonder hoo men-folk and 
women-folk, sittin side by side, could thole't in a public 
theatre. 

\_There is silence for a time. North rings the silver bell, and 
appear PeteR and Ambrose with the cold round, ham and 
fowls and tongues, and the unassuming hut not unsubstantial 
et-ceteras of such a small snug Midsummer supper as you 
may suppose suitable .at a Noctes on the Leads of the 
Lodge. North nods, and Peter lets on the gas. 

* " But ae word explains a'— genius — genius— -wull a' the metapMzzians in 
the warld ever expound that mysterious monosyllable ? 

" TicMer. Monosyllable, James, did you say ? 

" Shepherd. Ay— monosyllable ! Doesna that mean a word o' three syllai> 
bles ? 

" Tickler. It is all one in the Greek, my dear James." 



476 The Tailors Strike, 

■ Shepherd. Fareweel to the moon and stars. 
North. What will you eat, James ? 

Shepherd. I'll tak some hen. Mr. Buller, gie me the twa 
legs and the twa wings and the breist — and then hauu the 
hen ower to Mr. Tickler. 

\_They settle down into serious eating. The Shepherd taking 
the lead — hard pressed hy North. 

North. James, what is your opinion of the state of public 
affairs ? 

Shepherd. O, sir ! but yon was like to be a great national 
calamity ! 

Noi^th. Probably it was, James. Pray, what was it? 

Tickler. The Plague ? 

Shepherd. Far» waur than the Plague — 'cause threatenin to 
be mair universal — though, like the Plague, it was in Lunnou 
— thank heaven — where it first brak out — The Tailors' 
Strike ! 

North. 'Twas an appalling event — and, like the great 
earthquake at Lisbon, was, no doubt, felt all over 
Europe. 

Shepherd. The rural districts, as you ca' them, Mr. North, 
haena aye escaped sic a calamity. I weel remember, in the 
year wan, * a like visitation in the Forest. ' It wasna on sae 
big a scale — for the boonds wadna admit o' its bein sae — but 
the meesery was nae less— though contrackit within a nar- 
rower circle. 

Tickler. Diffused over a wider sphere. 

North. When? 

Tickler. And how ? 

Shepherd. The Tailor at Yarrow Ford, without having 

* Wan—ovcQ. " The year wan "—an ellipsis for the year 1801. 



The Strike in the Forest. 477 

shown ony symptoms o' the phoby the nicht afore, ae moniiiig 
at sax o'clock— strack ! 

North. How dreadful ! 

Shepherd, You may weel say that, sir. 'Twas just at 
the dawn o' the Season o' Tailors, when a' ower the Forest 
there begins the makin o' new claes and the repairin o' 
auld — 

North. Making — as Bobby says — 

*' The auld claes look amaist as weel's the new." 

Shepherd. The maist critical time o' the haill year. 

North. Well, James ? 

Shepherd. At sax he strack — and by nine it was kent frae 
Selkirk to the Grey-Mare's Tail. A' at ance— ordinar claes 
only — but mairrage-shoots and murnins were at a deid 
staun. A' the folk in the Forest saw at ance that it was im 
possible decently to get either married or buried. For, wad 
ye believe't, the mad body was aff ower the hills, and bat* 
Watty o' Ettrick Pen ! Of coorse he strack — and in his turn 
aff by a short cut to the Lochs, and bat Bauldy o' Bourhope, 
wha loupt frae the buird like a puddock. and flang the guse 
in the fire, swearin by the shears, as he flourished them round 
his head, and then sent them intil the ass-hole, that a' man- 
kind micht thenceforth gang nakit. for him up to the airm- 
pits in snaw ! 

North. We are all listening to you, James, with the most 
intense interest. 

Shepherd. The Three Tailors formed themsels intil a union 
— niid boond themsels by an aith — the words o' which hae 
never transpired — but nae dout they were fearsome and 
they ratified it — it has been said — wi' three draps each o' 
their ain bluid, let out wi' the prick o' a needle — no to shue 



478 The Forest Rises 

anither steek gin the Forest were to fa* doun afore them ofl 
its knees ! 

North. Impious ! 

Shepherd. But the Forest had nae sic intention — and 
bauldly stood up again' the Rebellion. Auld Mr. Laidlaw — 
the faither o' your freens, Watty, George, and James — took 
the lead- — and there was a gatherin on Mount Benger — the 
same farm that, by a wonderfu' coincidence, I afterwards 
came to hauld — at which resolutions were sworn by the 
Forest no to yield, while there was breath in its body, though 
back and side micht gang bare. I there made ma maiden 
speech ; for it wasna ma maiden speech — though it passed for 
such, as often happens — the ane ye heard, six — ma first in the 
Forum. 

North. I confess I had my suspicions at the time, James, 
I thought I saw the arts of the sophist in those affected hesi- 
tations — and that I frequently heard, breaking through the 
skilful pauses, the powers, omnipotent in self-possession, of 
the practised orator. 

Shepherd. Never was there sic a terrible treeo as them o' 
Yarrow Ford, Ettrick Pen, and Bourhope ! Three decenter 
tailor lads, a week afore, ye micht hae searched for in vain 
ower the wide warld. The streck changed them into demons. 
They cursed, they swore, they drank, they danced, they 
focht — first wi' whatever folk happened to fa' in wi' them on 
the stravaig — and then, castin out amang theirsels, wi' ane 
anither, till they had a' three black een — and siccan noses ! 

Tickler. 'Tis difficult for an impartial, because unconcerned, 
spectator to divine the drift of the different parties in a fight 
of three. 

Shepherd. They couldna ha divined it theirsels — for there 
was nae drift amang them to divine. There they were a' 
three lounderin at hap-hazard, and then gaun heid-ower-heels 



Against the Tailors, 479 

on the tap o' ane anither, or colleckit in a knot in the glaur ; 
and I couldna help sayin to Mr. Bryden — ^father o' your 
favorite Watty Bryden, to whom ye gied the tortoise-shell 
mull — " Saw ye ever, sir, a Tredd's-Union like iJiaty 

Tickler . Why not import ? 

Shepherd. As they hae dune since in Luunon frae Ger- 
many ? Just because naebody thocht o't. Importin tailors to 
ensure free tredd ! ! 

Tickler. And how fared the Forest ? 

Shepherd. No weel. Some folk began tailorin for theirsels 
— ^but there was a strong prejudice against it — and to them 
ihat made the attempp the result was baith ridiculous and 
painfu', and in ae case, indeed, had nearly proved fatal. 

Tickler. James, how was that ? 

Shepherd. Imagine yoursel, Mr. Tickler, in a pair o' breeks, 
wi' the back pairt afore — the seat o' honor transferred to 
the front — 

North. Let us all so imagine, Tickler. 

Shepherd. T\iqj shaped them sae, without bein' able to help 
it, for it's a kittle airt cuttin out. 

Tickler. But how fatal ? 

Shepherd. Dandy o' Dryhope, in breeks o' his ain gettin 
up, rashly daured to ford the Yarrow — ^but they grupped him 
sae ticht at ween the fork, that he could mak nae head gain'* 
the water comin doun gQj Strang, and he was soopit aff his 
feet, and taen out mair like a bundle o' claes than a man. 

Tickler. How ? 

Shepherd. We listered him like a fish. 
North. " Time and the hour run throusch the roughest 
day I" 

Shepherd. And a' things yerthly hae an end. Sae had tho 
strcck. To mak a lang story short — the Forest stood it out 

* Gain, — iijainst. 



480 Watty o the Pen 

' — the tailors gied in — and the Tredd's-Union fell to pieces. 
But no before the Season o' Tailors was lang ower, and pairt 
o' the simmer too — for they didna return to their wark till 
the Langest Day. It was years afore the rebels recovered 
frae the want o' wage and the waste o' pose ; ^ but atween 
1804 and 1808 a' three married, and a' three, as you ken, 
Mr. North — for I hae been direckin mysel to Mr. Tickler 
and Mr. Buller — hae been ever sin' syne weel-behaved and 
weel-to-do — and I never see ony o' them without their tellin 
me to gie you their compliments, mair especially the tailor 
o' Yarrow Ford, — for Watty o' the Pen — him, Mr. Buller, 
that used to be ca'd the Flyin Tailor o' Ettrick — sometimes 
fears that Christopher North hasna got ower yet the beabin 
he gied him in the ninety-odd — the year Louis XVI. was 
guillotined — at hap-stap-and-loup. 

North. He never beat me, Mr. Buller. 

Buller. From what I have heard of you in your youth, sir, 
indeed I can hardly credit it. Pardon my skepticism, Mr. 
Hogg. 

Shepherd. You may be as great a skeptic as you choose — 
but Watty bate Kitty a' till sticks. 

North. You have most unkindly persisted, Hogg, during 
all these forty years, in refusing to take into account my 
corns — 

Shepherd. Corns or nae corns, Watty bate you a' till sticks. 

North. Then I had been fishing all day up to the middle in 
the water, with a creel forty^ pound weight on my back — 

Shepherd. Creel or nae creel, Watty bate you a' to sticks. 

North. And I had a hole in my heel you might have jDut 
your hand into — 

Shepherd. Sound heels or sair heels, Watty bate you a' to 
sticks. 

* Pose — a secret lioard of money ; savings. 



Beat North to Sticks. 481 

North. And I sprained one of my ankles at the first rise. 

Shepherd. Though you had sprained baith, Watty wad hae 
bate you a' till sticks. 

North. And those accursed corduroys cut me — 

Shepherd. Dinna curse the corduroy s-^f or in breeks or out 
o' breeks, Watty bate ye a' till sticks. 

North. I will beat him yet for a — 

Shepherd. You shanna be alloo'd to mak sic a fule o your- 
sel. You were ance the best louper I ever saw — excepp ane 
— and that ane was wee Watty o' the Pen — the Flyin Tailor 
o* Ettrick — and he bate ye a' till sticks. 

North. Well — I have done, sir. All people are mad on 
some one point or other — and your insanity — 

Shepherd. Mad or no mad, W^atty bate you a' till sticks. 

North. Peter, let off the gas. {Rising with marked dis- 
pleasure.^ 

Shepherd. Oh man ! but that's puir spite ! Biddin Peter 
let aff the gas, merely 'cause I tauld Mr. BuUer what a' the 
Forest kens to be true, that him the bairns noo ca' the 
AuLD HiRPLiN HuRCPiEON, half-a-ccntury sin', at hap-stap- 
and-loup, bate Christopher North a' till sticks. 

North (with great vehemence) . Let off the gas, you stone ! 

Shepherd. That's pitifu' ! Ca'in a man a stane ! a man 
that has been sae lang too in his service — and that has gien 
him nae provocation — for it wasna Peter bat me that was 
obleeged to keep threepin that Watty o' the Pen — by folk o' 
my time o' life never ca'd onything less than the Flying 
Tailor o' Ettrick, though by bairns never ca'd onything mair 
but the Auld Hirplin Hurcheon, at hap-stap-and-loup — on 
fair level mossy grun' — bate him a' till sticks. 

North (in a voice of thunder). You son of a sea-gun, let off 
the gas. 

Shepherd. Passion's aften figurative, and aye forgetfu' 



482 Sunrise 07i the Sea. 

But I fear he'll be breakin a bluid-veshel — sae I'll remind 
him o' the siller bell. Peter has orders never to shaw his 
neb but as soun' o' the siller bell. — Sir, you've forgotten 
the siller bell. Play tingle — tingle — tingle — ting. 

North [ringing the silver hell). Too bad, James. Peter, let 
off the gas. [Peter lets off the gas. 

Shepherd. Ha ! the bleeze o' morn ! Amazin ! 'Twas 
shortly after sunset when the gas was let on — and noo that 
the gas is let aff , lo ! shortly after sunrise ! 

Buller. With us there has been no night. 

Shepherd. Yesterday was the Twunty-first o' June — the 
Langest Day. We could hae dune without artificial licht — • 
for the few hours o' midnicht were but a gloamin — and we 
could hae seen to read prent. 

Buller. A deep dew. 

North. As may be seen by the dry lairs in the wet grass of 
those cows up and at pasture. 

Shepherd. Naebody else stirrin. Look, there's a hare 
washin her face like a cat wi' her paw. Eh man ! look at 
her three leverets, like as mony wee bit bears. 

Buller. I had no idea there were so many singing birds so 
near the surburbs of a great city. 

Shepherd. Pladna ye ? In Scotland we ca' that the skreigh 
o' day. 

North. What has become of the sea ? 

Shepherd. The sea ! somebody has opened the sluice, and 
let aff the water. Na — there it's — fasten your een upon yon 
great green shadow — for that's Inchkeith — and you'll sune 
come to discern the sea waverin round it, as if the air grew 
glass, and the glass water, while the water widens out inti] 
the Firth, and the Firth awa intil the Main. Is yon North 
Berwick Law or the Bass — or baith^ — or naither — or a cape 
o' cloudland, or a thocht ? 



A Scottish Breakfast, 488 

North. — 

" Under the opening eyelids of tlie mom."' 

Shepherd. See ! Specks — like black water-flees. The boats 
o' the Newheeven fishermen. . Their wives are snorin yet 
wi' their head in mutches — but wull sune be risin to fill 
their creels. Mr. Buller, was you ever in our Embro' Fish- 
Market ? 

Buller. No. "Where is it, sir ? 

Shepherd. In the Parliament Hoose. 

Buller. In the Parliament House ? 

Shepherd. Are you daft ? Aneath the North Brig. ^ 

Buller. You said just iiow it was in the Parliament House. 

Shepherd. Either you or me has been dreamin. But, Mr. 
North, I'm desperate hungry — are ye no intendin to gie us 
ony breakfast ? 

North (ringing the silver hell). Lo ! and behold! 
{Enter Peter, Ambrose, King Pepin, Sir David Gam, 
and Tap^ytoorie, with trays.) 

Shepherd. Rows het frae the oven ! Wheat scones ! Barley 
scones ! Wat and dry tost ! Cookies ! Baps ! Muffins ! 
Loaves and fishes ! E-izzars ! Finnans ! Kipper ! Speldrins ! 
Herring ! Marmlet ! Jeely ! Jam ! Ham ! Lamb ! Tongue ! - 
Beef hung ! Chickens ! Fry ! Pigeon pie ! Crust and 
broon aside the Roon' — but sit ye doun — no — freens, let's 
staun' — baud up your haun — bless your face — ^North, gie's a 
grace. — (North says grace.) Noo let's fa' too — but hooly — 
hooly — ^hooly — what vision this ! What vision this ! An^ 
Apparition or a Christian Leddy ! I ken, I ken her by her 
curtshy — did that face no tell her name and her nature. — Oh 
deign, Mem, to sit doun aside the Shepherd. — Pardon me — 
tak the head o' the table, ma honored Mem — and let the 
Shepherd sit doun aside you — and may I mak sae bauld as 



184 A Creature of the Element, 

to introduce Mr. BuUer to you, Mem ? Mr. Buller, clear your 
een — for on the Leads o' the Lodge, in face o' heaven and 
he risin sun, I noo introduce you till Mrs. Gentle. - 

North (starting and looking wildly round). Ha I 

Shepherd. She's gane ! 

North {recovering some of his composure). Too bad, James. 

Shepherd. Saw your nocht ? Saw naebody ocht ? 

Omnes. Nothing. 

Shepherd. A cretur o' the element ! like a' the ither love- 
liest sichts that veesit the een o' us mortals — but the dream 
0* a dream! But, thank heaven, a's no unsubstantial in this 
warld o' shadows. Were ony o' us to say sae, this breakfast 
would gie him the lee ! Noo, Gurney, mind hoo ye extend 
your short-haun. 

Small still Voice. Ay, ay, sir. 

Buller. " Oh Gurney ! shall I call thee bird, or but a wan- 
dering voice ! " 



North. 



" O blessed Bird ! the world we pace 

Again appears to be 
An unsubstantial faery-place, 

That is fit home for Thee ! '* 



xxvn. 

A DINNER IN THE FOREST. 

Scene I. — The Shepherd's Study, Altrive. — The Shepherd 
seated at dinner. Time — Six o^ Clock. — Ambrose in 
waiting. 

{Enter, hurriedly, North and Tickler.) 

Shepherd. What for keep ye folk waitin in this way, sirs, 
for denner ! and it past sax ! Sax is a daft-] ike hour for 
denner in the Forest, but I'm aye wullin to humor fules 
that happen to be reseedin in ma ain house at hame. Whare 
were you — and what hae ye been about ? No ^ shavin at 
least — for twa sic bairds I dinna remember ha'in witnessed 
sin' I was in Wales — towards the close o' the century — and 
they belanged to twa he-goats glowerin ower at me frae the 
ruins o' Dolbaldron Castle. Tak your chairs — ye Jews. 
Moses ! sit you on my richt haun — and Aaron ! sit- you on 
my left. [North and Tickler sit down as commanded. 

North. 'Tis the first time in my life that I have been one 
moment behind the hour. 

Shepherd. I believ't. For you can regulat your stamack 
like a timepiece. It gangs as true's a chronometer — and on 
board a ship you could tell by't to a nicety when she would 
reach ony particular port. I daursay it's correck the noo by 

* ^0— not. 

485 



486 The, Dinner-hell at Altrive. 

the sun — but I aye mak Girrzzy bate * the girdle twa-three 
minutes afore the chap o' the knock.f 

Tickler. Bate the girdle ? 

Shepherd. Ay, just sae, sir — ^bate the girdle. I used to 
hae a bell hung on the bourtree at the gable-end — the auld 
Yarrow kirk-bell — but it got intil its dotage, its tongue had 
tjie palsy, it's cheeks were crackit — and pu' the rape as you 
would, it's vice was as puir's as a pan's. Then the lichtnin, 
that maun hae had little to do that day, naelted it intil the 
shape o' an airn icicle, and it grew perfeckly useless — sae I 
got a drum that aiice belanged to the militia, and for some 
seasons it diverted the echoes that used to tak it aff no amiss, 
whether braced or itherwise — but it too waxed auld and 
impotent, and you micht as weel for ony music that was in't, 
hae. bate the kitchen-dresser wi' the lint-beetle — sae I then 
got a gong sent ower frae India frae your freen and mine, 
Dr. Gray — God bless him — and for a lang, deep, hollow 
trummlin, sea-like, and thunderous sound, it bate a' that 
ever was heard in this kintra — ^but it created sic a dis- 
turbance far and wide, that, sair against .my wull, I had to 
shut it up in the garret. 

North. Wherefore, James ? 

Shepherd. In the first place, it was sae like thunner that 
folk far aff couldna tell whether it was thunner or no ; and 
I've kent them yoke their carts in a hurry to carry in their 
hay afore it was dry for stacking, fearing a plump. Ae Sun- 
day the sound keepit a' the folk frae the kirk, and aften they 
wadna ventur on the fuirds, in dread o' a sudden spate frae 
a water-spoot. I learnt at last to bate it more gently ; but 
then it was sae like the sound o' a bill afore he breaks out 
iutU the bellow, that a' the kye in the forest grew red-wud* 
mad ; sae then I had to take to batin the girdle^-an idea 

* JBafe— lieat. t Chap o' the TcnocTc — striking of tlie clock. 



The Covers are lifted, 48T 

that was suggested to me ae day on the swarmin o* a tap- 
swarm o' a skepo' bees in the garden — and I find that on a 
clear day sic as this, when the atmosphere's no clogged, that 
it answers as weel's either the kirk-bell, tlfe drum, or the 
gong. You would he^r't ayont the knowe, sirs ; and wasna't 
bonny music? 

Arcades Ambo. Beautiful, exceedingly. 

Shepherd. If her I needna name had been at hame, there 
would hae been a denner on the table wordier* o' my twa 
maist esteemed and dearest freens ; but I howp wi' sic as we 
hae — without her mair immediate yet prospective care — you 
will be able to make a fend.f 

North. Bread and cheese would be a feast with the Shep 
herd. 

Shepherd. 'Deed it wad be nae sic thing. It's easy to 
speak o' feasting on cheese and breed, and butter and breed— 
and in our younger days they were truly a feast on the hill. 
But noo our pallets, if they dinna require coaxin, deserve a 
goo ; t and I've seen a barer buird. Mr. Awmrose, lift the 
lids. [Mr. Ambrose smilingly lifts the lids. 

North and Tickler (in delighted wonder). Bless us ! 

Shepherd. That's hotch-potch — and that's cocky-leeky — the 
twa best soups in natur. Broon soup's moss-water — and 
white soup's like scauded milk wi' worms in't. But see, sirs, 
boo the ladle stauns itsel in the potch — and I wush Mr. 
Tickler could see himsel the noo in a glass, curlin up his 
nose, wi' his een glistening, and his mouth waterin, at sicht 
and smell o' the leeky. We kilt a lamb the day we got 
your letter, sir, and that's a hind-quarter twal-pund wecht, 
Ayont it's a beef -stake poy — for Ge'ordy Scougal slaughtered 
a beast last market day at Innerleithen — ^and his meat's aye 
prime. Here are three fules — and that ham's nae sham, saa 

• fTordier— worthier. t Fend—sldtt. t Goo-jproTOcative. . 



488 The Dishes are disclosed. 

we sail ca' him Japhet. I needna tell ye yon's a roasted 
green-guse frae Crosslee — and neist it mutton-chaps — ^but the 
rest's a' ggem. That's no cat, Tickler — but hare — as you 
may ken by her lugs and fud. That wee bit black beastie — • 
I wuss she mayna be wizened in the roastin — is a water-hen ; 
the twa aside her are peaseweeps — to the east you may 
observe a leash o' grouse — wastwards ho ! some wild dyucks 
— a few pints to the south a barren pair o' paitricks — and 
due north a whaup. 

North (helping himself to a couple of flappers^ — 

" O' a' the airts tlie wund can blaw 

I dearly loe the west, 
For there the bonny dyuckie lies, 

The dyuck that I loe best." 

Shepherd. Butyoumaunnabe expeckin a second and third 
coorse. I hate to hae denner set afore me by instalments ; 
and, frae my no havin the gift o' prophecy, I've kent dish 
efter dish slip through my fingers in a succession o' coorses, 
till I had feenally to assuage my hunger on gratins they ca' 
parmesan. Sir George Warrenner * will recollek hoo I pickit 
them aff the plate as if I had been famished, yet frae first to 
last there had been nae absolute want o' vittals. I kept aye 
waitin for the guse ; but nae guse o' an edible kind made his 
appearance, and I had to dine ower again at sooper in my ain 
bottle."* That's a sawmon. 

Ambrose. There is somebody at the door, sir. 

Shepherd. Let him in. (Ambrose opens the door, and enter 
Clavers, Girajfe, Mover, Guile, and Fang.') It's the dowgs, 
Gentlemen, be seated. , [ The Canine take their seats. 

North. " We are seven." 

* I believe that Sir George Warrender presided at a public dinner given to 

Hogg in London, 
t HottJe—'hot^i. 



Symptoms of Hydrophohia. 489 

Shepherd. A mystical nummer — 
North. The Pleiades. 
Tickler. — 

" And lend the Lyre of heaven another string." 

Shepherd. I ken, Mr. Tickler, ye dinna like dowgs. But ye 
ueedna be feared, for nane o' them's got the hydrophoby — 
excepp it may be Fang. The cretur's been very snappish 
sin' the barommator reached ninety, and bat a goslin that 
began to bark — but though the goslin bat him again, he 
hasna yet been heard to quack ony, sae he's no muckle mad. 
You're no mad. Fang ? 

Fang. Buy — wuy — wuy. 

Shepherd. His speech's rather affeckit. He used to say — 
bow — wow — wow. 

Tickler {sidling away nearer the Shepherd). I don't much 
like his looks. 

Shepherd. But, dear me ! I've forgotten to help you — and 
hae been eatin and talkin awa wi' a fu* mouth and trencher, 
while baith o' yours is stannin wide open and empty — and I 
fear, bein' out a' day, you maun be fent. 

Tickler. Say grace, James. 

Shepherd. I said it, Timothy, afore I sat doun ; and though 
you two was na in, it included you, for I kent you wadna be 
far aff ; sae it's a' richt baith in time and place. Fa' tae. 

Tickler. If you have been addressing me, my dear sir, never 
was there more needless advice. A more delicious duck- 
ling— 

North. Than Fatima I never devoured. 

Shepherd. O ye rubiawtors ! Twa wild dyucks dune to the 
very doups ! I intented to hae tasted them mysel — but the 
twa thegither wadna hae wechted wi' my whaup. 

Tickler. Your Whaup? 



/ 



490 Friendship among Dogs. 

Shephei'd. You a Scotchman and no ken a whaup ? O you 
gowk ! The English ca't a curly. 

Tichler. Oh ! a curlew. I have seen it in Bewick. 

Shepherd. And never in the muirs ? Then ye needna read 
Booick. For to be a naturalist you maun begin wi' natur^ 
and then study her wi' the help o' her chosen sons. But 
what think ye, sirs, o' thae pecks o' green pease ? 

North. By the flavor, I know them to be from Cacra Bank. 

Shepherd. Never kent I a man o' sic great original genius, 
wi' sic a fine delicate taste. They're really sae. John Grieve 
kent ye was comin to Altrive, and sent me ower baith them 
and thae young potawtoes. You'll be delichted to see him 
the morn in Ettrick kirk — ^for I haena kent him lookin 
sae Strang and fresh for a dizzen years — oh ! there's nae- 
thing for ane ony way invalidish like the air o' ane's native 
hills! 

Tichler. Come, Mr. Hogg, do tell us how you got the game ? 

Shepherd. It wasna my blame. Last Saturday, that's this 
da}'' week, I gaed out to the fishin, and the dowgs gaed wi' 
me, for when they're left at hame they keep up siccan a 
yowlin that folk passin by micht think Altrive a kennel for 
the Duke's jowlers. I paid nae attention to them, but left 
them to amuse theirsels — Clavers and Giraffe, that's the twa 
grews — Fang, the terrier — and Guile and Hover, collies — at 
least they ca' Rover a collie, though he's gotten a cross o' 
some outlandish bluid, and he belangs to the young gentle- 
man at Thirlstane, but he's a great freen 6' our Guile's, and 
often pays him a visit. 

Tickler. I thought there had been no friendship among dogs. 

Shepherd. Then you thocht wrang — for they aften loe ane 
anither like bithers, especially when they're no like ane anith- 
er, being indeed in .that respect, just like "us men ; for nae 
twa human beings are mair unlike ither, physically, moj'ally, 



" Wattif's deidr 491 

and intellectually, than you and me, Mr. Tickler, and yet 
dinna we loe ane anither like brithers ? 

Tickler. We do, we do, my dearest Shepherd. Well ? 

Shepherd. The trouts wadna tak ; whup the water as I wad, 
I couldna get a loup. Flee, worm, mennow, a' useless, and 
the water, though laigh, wasna laigh aneuch for guddlin. 

Tickler. Guddlin? 

Shepherd. JSTae mair o' your affeckit ignorance, Mr. Tickler. 
You think it fashionable to be ignorant o' everything vulgar 
folk like me thinks worth knawin, but Mr. North's a genteeler 
man nor you ony day o' the week, and he kens brawly what's 
guddlin ; and what's mair, he was ance himsel the best 
guddler in the south o' Scotland, if you e^ceppit Bandy Jock 
Gray o' Pebbles. He couldna guddle wi' Bandy Jock ony 
mair than loup wi' Watty o' the Pen, the Flyin Tailor o' 
Ettrick. 

North {laying down his knife and fork). I'll leap him to- 
morrow for love. 

Shepherd. Wheesht — wheesht. The morn's the Sabbath. 

North. On Monday then — running hop-step-and-leap, or 
a running leap, on level ground — back and forward — with or 
without the crutch — let him use sticks if he will — 

Shepherd, Wheesht — wheesht. Watty's deid. 

North. Dead ! 

Shepherd. And buried. I was at the funeral on Thursday. 
The folk are talkin o' pittin up a bit monument to him — ^in- 
deed hae asked me to indite an inscription. I said it should 
be as simple as possible — and merely record the chief act o' 
his life — " Hic Jacet Walter Laidlaw of the Pen, the 

CELEBRATED FlYING TaILOR OF EtTRICK, WHO BEAT 

Ohristopher North at hop-step-and-jump." 

North (resuming his knife andfork).WeU. — ^fix your day, and 
tiiough Tweed should be in flood, I will guddle Bandy Jock. 



492 "-Bandy Jock:' 

Shepherd. Bandy Jock 'ill giidclle nae mair in this warld. 
He dee'd o' the rheumatiz on May-day— and the same inscrip- 
tion, wi' a little variation — leavin out " hop-step-and-jump," 
and inserting " guddlin " — will answer for him that will 
answer for Watty o' the Pen. 

Tickler. 'Pon honor, my dear sir, I know not guddlin. 

Shepherd. In the wast they ca't. ginnlin. 

Tickler. Whew ! I'll ginnle Kit for a pair of ponies. 
JVorth (^derisively). Ha, ha, ha. 

Shepherd. I've seen Bandy Jock dook doun head and 
shouthers, sae that you saw but the doup o' him facin the 
sun, aneath a bank, and remain for the better pairt o' five 
minutes wi' his mouth and nostrils in the water— -hoo he 
contrived to breathe I kenna — when he wad di-aw them out, 
wi' his lang carroty hair a' poorin, wi' a trout a fit lang in ilka 
haun, and ane aiblins auchteen inches atween his teeth. 

Tickler. You belong, I believe, Mr. Hogg, to the Royal Com- 
pany of Archers ? 

Shepherd. What connection has that ? I do ; and I'll shoot 
, you ony day. Captain Colley ance backed Bandy Jock again' 
a famous tame otter o' Squire Lomax's frae Lancashire — 
somewhat about Preston — that the Squire aye carried wi' 
him in the carriage — a pool bein' made for its accommodation 
in the floor wi' air-holes — and Jock bate the otter by fifteen 
pound — though the otter gruppit a sawmon. 

Tickler. But, mine host, the game ? 

Shepherd. Do you no like it ? Is't no gude ? It surely 
canna be stinkin ? And yet this het wather's sair compleened 
o' by the cyuck, and flees will get intil the Safe. I gie you 
my word for't, howsomever, that I saw her carefully wi' a 
knife scrapin out the mauks. 

Tickler. I see nothing in the shape of maggots in this one. 

Shepherd. Nor shall ye in this ane — {forking it) — for I see 



How the Old Cock was got. 493 

that, though I'm in my ain house, I maun tak care o' mysel 
wi' you Embro' chaps, or I'll be famished. 

Tichle)\ But, mine host, the game ? 

Shepherd. That cretur Fang there — him wi' the slicht touch 
o' the hydrophoby — is the gleggest at a grup o' ggem sit- 
tin, in a' the Forest. As for Rover, he has the nose o' a 
Spanish pinter, and draws and backs as if he had been regu- 
larly brak in by a dowg-breaker, wi' a dowg-whup on the 
muirs. On my way up the Yarrow — me wi' my fishin-rod in 
my haun, no put up, and no unlike the Crutch, only with- 
out the cross — Rover begins snokin and twinin himsel in a 
serpentine style, that aye denotes a Strang scent — wi' his 
fanlike tail whafRn — and Fang close at his heels — when Fang 
pounces on what I thocht might pruve but a tuft o' heather, 
or perhaps a mowdiewarp — but he kent be^r — for in troth 
it was the Auld Cock — and then whurr — whurr — whurr — a 
covey o' what seemed no far short o' half a hunder — for they 
broon'd the lift ; and in the impetus o' the moment, wi' the 
sudden inspiration o' an improveesistreecky, I let fly the rod 
amang them as if it had been a rung.* It wounded many, 
but knocked doun but three — and that's them, or at least was 
them — for I noo see but ane — Tickler ha'in taen to his share 
the Auld Cock. 

North. And the ducklings ? 

Shepherd. Ca' them flappers. A maist ridiculous Ack o' 
Parliament has tried to mak them ggem- — through it's weel 
kent that tame dyucks and wild dyucks are a' ae breed — 
but a thousand Acks o' Parliament 'ill never gar me consider 
them ggem, or treat them as ggem, ony mair than if you were 
to turn out a score o' how-towdies on the heather, and ca' 
them ggem. 

Tickler. Pheasants 

* -Z?ttn«7— -walking staff. 



494 The Flappers. 

Shepherd. I ken naething about feesants, excepp that they 
are no worth eatin. 

North. You are wrong there, James. The duke sends me 
annually half-a-dozen, and they eat like Birds of Paradise. 

. Shepherd. Even the hen's no half sae gude's a hen. But 
for the flappers. A' the five dowgs fand theirsels a' at ance 
in araang a brood on a green level marshy spat, where escape 
was impossible for puir beasts that couldna yet flee — and 
therefore are ca'd flappers. It wad hae been vain for me to 
try to ca' the dowgs aff — sae I cried thera on— and you never 
saw sic murder. The auld drake and dyuck keepit circling 
round — quack-quack-quackin out o' shot in the sky — and I 
pitied the puir pawrents lookin doun on the death o' their 
promising progeny. By gude luck I had on the sawmon- 
creel — and lo(^in round about, I crammed in a' the ten — ■ 
doun wi' the lid — and awa alang the holms o' Yarrow as if 
I was selecking a stream for beginnin to try the fishin — 
when, wha sud I meet but ane o' his Grace's keepers ! Afore 
I kent whare T was, he put his haun aneath the basket, and 
tried to gie't a hoist — ^but providentially he never keekit intil 
the hole — and tellin him I had had grand trootin — but maun 
be aff, for that a lassie had been sent to tell me that twa 
gentlemen frae Embro' had come out to Altrive — I wished 
him gude day, and took the fuird. But my heart was loupin, 
and I felt as if I was gaun to fent. A sook o' Glenlivet, 
however, set me a' richt — and we shall hae the lave to sooper 
T howp poosie's tasty, sir ? 

North. I have rarely ate a sweeter and richer leveret. 

Shepherd. I'll thank ye, sir, to ca' the cretur by her richt 
name — the name she gaed by, to my knowledge, for mony 
years — a Hare. She hasna been a leveret sin' the King's 
visit to Scotland. I howp you dinna find her teuch ? * 

* Teuch — tough.' 



TJie Witch in a Rare-shin, 495 

North. Not yet. 

Shepherd. You maun lay your account wi' her legs bein* 
Larder wark than her main body and wings. I'm glad to see 
Girrzzy hasn^pared the stuffin — and you needna hain the 
jeel,* for there's twa dizzen pats o' new, red, black, and white, 
in that closet, wi' their mouths cosily covered wi' pages o' 
some auld lowse Nummers o' Blackwood's Magazine — the 
feck o' them belangin to twa articles, entitled " Streams " 
and " Cottages." 

North (^wincing). But to the story of the game. 

Shepherd. The witch was sitting in her ain kail-yard — the 
preceese house I dinna choose to mention — when Giraffe, in 
louping ower the dyke, louped ower her, and she gied a spang 
intil the road, turning round her fud within a yard o' Clavers 
— and then sic a brassel a' three thegither up the brae ! And 
then back again — in a hairy whirlwind — twa miles in less 
than ae minute. She made for the mouth o' the siver, t but 
Rover, wha had happened to be examining it, in his inquisi- 
tive way, and kent naething o' the coorse, was comin out just 
as she was gaun in, an' atween the twa there ensued, unseen 
in the siver, a desperate battle. Weel dune, witch — weel 
dune, warlock — and at ae time I feared frae his yelpin and 
yowlin that Rover was gettin* the warst o't, and micht lose 
his life. Auld poosies cuff sair wi' their forepaws — and 
theirs is a wicked bite. But the outlandish wolfiness in 
Rover brak forth in extremity, and he cam rushin out o' the 
slyer wi' her in his mouth, shaking her savagely, as if she had 
been but a ratten, and I bad to choke him aff. Forby thrap- 
lin her, he had bit intil the jugular— and she lost sae meikle 
bluid, that you hae eaten her the noo roasted, instead o' her 
made intil soup. She wad hae been the tenderer o' anither 
fortnicht o' this het wather — wi' the glass at 92 in the 

• Hain thej'eel—he sparing of the jelly. t Siver— a, covered drain. 



496 She recovers her Skin, 

sliade o' the Safe in the Larder — yet you seem to be gettin 
on — 

North. Pretty well — were it not that a sinew — like a length 
of catgut — from the old dame's left hip has <^t so entangled 
among my tusks, that — 

Shepherd. You are speakin sae through your teeth as no to 
be verra intelligible. Let me cut the sinny wi' my knife. 

[_The Shepherd operates loilh much surgical dexterity. 

North. Thank you, James. I shall eat no more of the 
leveret now — but take it minced at supjDer. 

Shepherd. Minshed ! ma faith, you've minshed it wi' a 
vengeance. She's a skeleton noo, and nae mair — and let's 
send her in as a curiosity in a glass case to James Wilson — 
to meet him on his return frae the Grand Scientific Expedi- 
tion o' thae fearless feelosophers into the remotest regions o' 
Sutherland, to ascertain whether par be par, or o' the seedo' 
sawmon. We'll swear that we fand it imbedded in a solid 
rock, and it '11 pass. for the young o' some specie o' antedilu- 
vian yelephant. 

Tickler. Clap the skin upon it-— and tell James that we 
all three saw it jump out of the heart of the trap. 

Shepherd. A queer idea. Awmrose, bid Girrzzy gie ye the 
hare-skin o' that auld hare that's noo eaten intil a skeleton 
by Mr. North. 

\_Exit Ambrose, and enters with the hare-skin. 
North. Allow me to put it on. 

[North seems much at a loss. 

Shepherd. Hoot, man ! The skin's inside out ! There — 
the lugs fit nicely — (the Shepherd adroitly o^e-furs Puss) — 
and the head — but there's a sair fa'in aff everywhere else — 
and noo that it's on — this unreal mockery is mair shockin 
than the skeleton. ' Tak it awa — tak it awa, Mr. Awmrose — 
I canna thole to look at it. 



And vmiishes through the Window. 497 

Worth. Stop, Ambrose. Give it me a moment. 

[North lends it a legerdemaiyi touch after the style of the 
late celebrated Othello Devaynes of Liverpool, and the 
witch, in point of activity, apparently not one whit the 
worse of having been eaten, Jumps out of the window. 
Omnes. Halloo ! halloo ! halloo ! 

[^Clavers, Giraffe, Rover, Guile, and Fang, spring from 

their seats, and evanish — Fa7ig clearing the sill as clean 

as a frog. 

Tickler. Now, Ambrose, down with the window — for, 

though my nose is none of the most fastidious, we have really 

had in everv way quite enough of dogs. 

32 



• 



xxvni. 

A DAY AT TIBBIE'S. 

• 
Scene 1 — Green in front of Tibbie's, head of St. Mary^s Loch.* 
Time — Four afternoon. Shepherd standing alone, in a 
full suit of the Susalpine Tartan. Arrive NoPwTH and 
Tickler on their Norwegians. 

Shepherd. True to time as the cuckoo or the swallow. 
Hail, Christopher ! Hail, Timothy ! Lords o' the ascend 
ant, I bid ye hail ! 

Tickler. Hoo's a' wi' ye, Jeems ? 

Shepherd. Brawlies — brawlies, sir ; but tak my advice, Mr. 
Tickler, and never attempp what ma excellent f reen, Downie 
o' Appin, ca's the Doric, you Dowg, for sic anither pronoun- 
ciation was never heard on this side o' the North Pole. 

North. My beloved Broonie ! lend a helping hand to your 
old accomplice while he endeavors to dismount. 

Shepherd. My heart botches, like a bird's nest wi' young 
anes, at the sound o' your vice. Ay-^ay — I'll affectionately 
lend a helpin haun to my auld accomplice while he endea- 
vors to dismuut — -my auld accomplice in a' kinds o' innicent 
wicketness — and Clootie shanna tak the ane o' us without 
the ither — I'm determined on that, — yet Clootie's a great 
coward, and wuli never hae courage to face the Crutch ! 

* Tibbie Shields and her interesting pastoral hostelry still flourish fox 
the accommodation of travellers in the wild solitudes of St Mary's Loch, 
Selkirkshire. 

498 



A Statue of Hippolytus. 499 

Tickler. And how am I to get ofi ? 

Shepherd. Your feet's within twa-three inches o' the gfund 
Rlready— strauchtyour knees — plant your soles on the sward 
— ^let gae the grup, and the beast '11 walk out frae aneath 
you, as if he was passing through a triumphal airch. 
Cream-colored pownies ! Are they a present frae the 
royal stud ? 

North. They are Norwegians, James, not Hanoverians. 
Lineally descended from the only brace of Cavalry King Haco 
had on board at the battle of Largs. 

Shepherd. His ain body-guard o' horse-marines. Does he 
bite ? 

North. Sometimes. But please to observe that he is 
muzzled. 

Shepherd. I thocht 'twas but a nettin ower his nose. Does 
he kick ? 

North. I have known him kick. 

Shepherd. I canna say I like that layin back o' his lugs — 
nor yet that twust o' his tail — and, mercy on us, but he's 
gotten the Evil Ee ! 

Tickler. Tibbie ! a stool. 

[Tibbie places a cutty stool below Tickler's left foot — and 
describing half a circle with his rights Timothy treads 
the sod — then facing about, leans with Ms right elboto on 
Harold^ s shoulder — tvhile his left forms the apex :f an 
isosceles triangle, as hand on hip he stands, like Hippo- 
lytus or Meleager. 

Shepherd (admiring Tickler). There's an equestrian statue 
worth a thousand o' that o' Lord Hopetoun and his horse in 
front o' the Royal Bank —though judges tell me that Cawmel 
the sculptor's a modern Midas. Hoo grandly the figures 
combine wi' the backgrund ! See hoo that rock relieves 
Tickler's heid, — and hoo that tree carries off Hawco's tail I 



500 Tickler in his Shooting-coat. 

The Director-general was wrang in swearing that sculp tur 
needs nae scenery to set it aff — for will onybody tell me that 
that group Would be as magnificent with in. the four bare wa's 
o' an exhibition-room, as where it noo stauns, in the heart o' 
licht, encircled by hills, and overhung by heaven ? Gin a 
magician could, by a touch o' his wand, convert it intil 
marble, it would be worth a ransom. But, alas ! 'tis but 
transitory flesh and bluid ! 

TicMer. Why don't you speak, James ? 

Shepherd. Admiration has held me mute. I beseech ye, 
sir^ dinna stir— for sic anither attitude for elegance, grace, 
and majesty, 's no within the possible combinations o' the 
particles o' maitter. Tibbie ! tak aff your een, it's no safe 
for a widow woman to glower lang on sic a spectacle ! Then 
the garb ! what an advantage it has ower Lord Hopetoun's ! 
His lordship looks as if he had ioupt out o' his bed on 
sae sudden an alarm, that he had time but to fling the 
blankets ower his shouthers, and the* groom nae time to 
saiddle the horse, which his maister had to ride a' nicht bare 
backit — altogether beneath the dignity o' a British general. 
But there the costume is a' in perfeck keepin — purple plush 
jacket wi' great big white horn buttons single breisted — 
cape hangiu easily ower the back o' ' the neck — haun-cuffs 
fliped to gie the wrists room to play — and the flaps o' the 
mony-pouched reachin amaist dooij to the knee, frae which 
again the ee travels alang the tartan trews till it f een ally 
rests on a braw brass buckle — or is it gowd ?- — bricht on his 
instep as a cairngorm. But up wi' a swurl again flees im- 
agination, and settles amang the lights and shadows o' the 
picturesque scenery o' that mony-shaped straw-hat — the rim 
o' its circumference a Sabbath-day's journey round — umbra- 
geous umbrella, .aneath which he stauns safe frae sun and 
rain — and might entertain a seleck pairty in the cool of the 



North's Face, 501 

air ! which he could keep in circulation .by a shake o' his 
head ! 

Tickler. Now that I have stood for my statue, James, pray 
I!'! ve us a pen-and-iuk sketch of Christopher. 

Shepherd. There he sits, turned half round on the saiddle, 
wi' ae haun restin on the mane, and the ither haudin by the 
crupper, — no that he's feared to fa' aff — for I've seldom seen 
him tummle at a staun-still — but that I may hae a front, a 
back, and a side view o' him a' at ance — for his finest pint is 
what I would venture, wi' a happy audacity, to ca' the circu- 
lar contour o' his full face and figure in profile — sae that the 
spectawtor has a comprehensive visey o' a' the characteristic 
attributes o' his outward man. 

North. The circular contour of my full face and figure 
in profile ? I should like to see it. 

Shepherd. I fear I shanna be able to feenish the figure at 
ae sittin, for it's no easy to get rid o' that face. 

North. I am trying to look as mild as cheese. 

Shepherd. Dinna fasten your twa grey green een on mine 
like a wull-cat. 

North. Verily they are more like a sucking dove's. 

Shepherd. Surely there's nae need to look sae cruel about 
the doun-drawn corners o' your mouth — for that neb's aneuch 
o' itsel — every year liker and liker a ggem-hawk's. 

North. I am a soft-billed bird. 

Shepherd. A multitude o' lang, braid, white, sharp teeth's 
fearsome in the mouth o' an auld man, and maks ane suspeck 
dealins wi' the enemy, and an unhallowed lease o' a lang life. 

North. Would that I had not forgotten to bargain for 
exemption f i om the toothache ! 

Shepherd. I wuss there mayna be mair meant than meets 
the ee in thae marks on the forehead. They tell na o' the 
touch o' Time, but o' the Tempter. 



502 ^^ Hae ye selt your Sowlf'^ 

North. I rub them oS — so — aud lo — the brow of a 
boy ! 

Shepherd. Answer me ae question — I adjure you — hae ye 
selt your sowl to Satan ? 

North {smiling). James ! 

Shepherd. Heaven bless you, sir, for that smile — for it has 
scattered the dismal darkness o' doubt in which ye were 
beginning to wax intil a demon, and I behold Christopher 
North in his ain native light — a man — a gentleman — and a 
Christian. But whare's the crutch ? 

North. Crutch ! The useless old sinecurist has been lying 
in velvet all autumn. Henceforth I believe I shall dispense 
with his services — ^for the air of the Forest has proved fatal 
to gout, rheumatism, and lumbago — of which truth behold 
the pleasant proof — James — here goes ! 

[North springs up to his feet on the crupper, throws a 
somerset over Haco^s rump, and hounds from the green 
sward as from a spring-hodrd. 

Tickler. Not amiss. Let's untackle our cattle — and make 
our toilet. 

[North and Tickler strip their steeds, and turn them 
loose into the meadow, green as emerald with a flush of 
aftergrass, in which they sink to the fetlocks, as at full 
gallop they describe fairy-rings within fairy-rings, till in 
the centre of the field they subside into a trot, and after 
diversely careering a while with flowing mane and tail, 
and neighings that thrill the hills, settle to serious eating, 
and look as if they had been quietly pasturing there 
since jnorn. 

North. That's right, my good Tibbie. Put my pail of 
water and my portmanteau into the arbor. 

Tickler. That's right, my pretty Dolly, put my pail of 
water and my portmanteau into the shed. 



Worth's Ra2)tures. 503 

[N'oRTH retires', into the arbor to make his toilet, and 
Tickler into the opposite shed. The SnEPnERD 
remains midway between — held there by the counterac- 
tion of two equal powers of animal magnetism. 

Shepherd. Are ye gaun into the dookin in thae twa pails ? 

North. No — as rural lass adjusts her silken snood by re- 
flection in such pellucid mirror — so am I about to shave. 

Shepherd. Remember the fable o' the goat and the well. 

North (within the Arbor). How beautiful the fading 
year! A month ago, this arbor was all one dusky greeu — 
now it glows — it burns with gold, and orange, and purple, 
and crimson ! How harmonious the many-colored glory ! 
How delightful are all the hues in tone ! 

Shepherd. Arena ye cauld staunin there in your linen ? 
For I see you through the thin umbrage, like a ghost in a 
dirty shirt. 

North. Sweet are autumn's rustling bowers, but sweeter 
far her still — when dying leaf after dying leaf drops unre- 
luctantly from the spray — all noiseless as snow-flakes — and 
like them ere long to melt away into the bosom of mother 
earth. It seems but yesterday when they were buds ! 

Shepherd. Tak tent ye dinna cut yoursel — it's no safe to 
moraleese when ane's shavin. Are ye speakin to me, or was 
that meant for a soliloquy ? 

North. In holt or shaw, in wood or grove, on bush or hedge- 
row, among broom or bracken, the merry minstrelsy is heard 
no more ! Soon as they cease to sing they seem to disap- 
pear ; the mute mavis retires with her speckled throat and 
breast so beautiful into the forest gloom ; the bold blackbird 
hides himself for a season, till the berries redden the holly- 
trees ; and where have all the Unties gone? Are they, too, 
home-changing birds of passage ? and have they flown un- 
gratefully away with the swallows, to sunny southern isles ? 



604 Leaving Altrive early. 

Shepherd. He's mair poetical nor correck in his ornithology; 
yet it's better to fa' into siclike harmless errors in the study o' 
leevin birds- — errors o' a lovin heart, and a mournfu' imagina- 
tion — than to keep scientifically richt amang stuffed speci- 
mens sittin for ever in ae attitude wi' bead-een in a glass-case. 

Tickler (within the Shed). What have you been about 
with yourself all day, my dear James ? 

Shepherd. No muckle. I left Altrive after breakfast — • 
about nine — and the Douglas Burn lookin gey temptin, I 
tried it wi' the black gnat, and sune creeled some fowre or 
five dizzen — the maist o' them sma' — few exceedin a pund. 

Tickler. Hem.* 

Shepherd. I fear, sir, you've gotten a sair throat. Aue 
sune tires o' trootin at ma time o' life, sae I then put on a 
sawmon flee, and without ony howp daunered donn to a 
favorite cast on the Yarrow. Sometimes a body may keep 
threshin the water for a week without seein a snout — and 
sometimes a body hyucks a fish at the very first thraw ; and 
sae it happened wi' me — though I can gie mysel nae credit 
for skill — for I was just wattin my flee near the edge, when 
a new-run fish, strong as a white horse, rushed at it, and then 
out o' the water wi' a spang higher than my head, 

•* My heart to my mouth gied a sten," , 

and he had amaist rugged the rod out my nieve ; but I sune 
'recovered my j)resence o' mind, and after indulgin his royal 
highness in a few plunges, I gied him the butt, and for a 
quarter o' an hour keept his nose to the grunstane. It's a 
sair pity to see a sawmon sulky, and I thocht — and nae doub< 
sae did he — that he had taen up his lodgins at the bottom 
o' a pool for the nicht — though the sun had just reached his 
meridian. The plump o' a stane half a hunderwecht made 

* Hern — implying a doubt. 



Hogg lands his Salmon. 505 

him shift his quarters — and a sudden thocht struck him that 
he ^ould mak the best o' his way to the Tweed, and then 
doun to the sea at Berwick. But I bore sae hard on him wi' 
an auchteen-feet rod, that by the time he had swam twa 
miles — and a' that time, though I. aften saw his shadow, I 
seldom saw himsel — he was sae sair blawn that he cam to the 
surface o' his ain accord, as if to tak breath — and after that 
I had it a' my ain way — for he was powerless as a sheaf o' 
corn carried doun in a spate — and 1 landed him at the fuird, 
within a few hunder yards o' Altrive. Curious aueuch, wee 
Jamie was sittin by himsel on the bank, switherin about 
wadin across, and you may imagine the dear cretur's joy on 
seein a twunty-pund fish — the heaviest ever killed wi' the rod 
in Yarrow — floatin in amang his feet. 

Tickler. You left him at home ? 

Shepherd. Whare else should I hae left him ? 

Tickler. Hem. 

Shepherd. You really maun pit some flannen round that 
throat — ^for at this time o' the year, when baith man and 
horse is saft, inflammation rapidly arrives at its hicht — 
mortification without loss o' time ensues — and within the 
four-and-twunty hours I've kent a younger chiel than you, 
sir, streekit out- — 

Tickler. What? 

Shepherd. A corp. 

Tickler. Any more sport? 

Shepherd. Returnin to the Loch, I thocht I wad try the 
otter.* Sae I launched him on a steady leaden keel — twa 
yards lang — breadth o' beam three inches — and mountin a 
hunder and fifty hyucks — 

* I'^is is an implement with, a number of fly-liooks attached to it; and it 
is worked out into the water from the shore, somewhat after the fashion in 
which a paper-kite is piqued against the wind. 



506 An Alarming Haul 

Tickler. A first-rate mau-of-war. 

Shepherd. I've seen me in the season atween spring and 
summer, secure ten dizzen wi' the otter at a single launch. 
But in October twa dizzen's no to be despised — the half o' 
them bein' about the size o' herrins, and the half o' them about 
the size o' haddocks, — and ane — but he's a grey trout — 

Tickler. Salmo Ferox ? 

Shepherd. As big's a cod. 

Tickler. Well, James ? 

Shepherd. I then thocht I would take a look o' some nicht 
lines I had set twa-three days sin', and began pu'in awa at 
the langest — wi' some five score o' hyucks, baited for pike 
and eel, wi' trout and partail, frogs, chicken heads, hen-guts, 
some mice, some moles, and some water-rats — ^for there's nae 
settin boun's to the voracity o' thae sharks and serpents — 
and it was like drawin a net. At length pike and eel began 
makin their ajDpearance, — first a pike — then an eel — wi' the 
maist unerrin regularity o' succession — ^just as if you had 
puttin them on sae for a ploy ! " Is there never to be an end 
o' this ? " I cried to mysel ; and by the time that, walkin 
backwards, I had reached the road, that gangs roun' the bay 
wi' a bend — enclosin atween it an the water-edge a bit 
bonny grass-meadow and twa-three trees — the same that 
your accomplished freen, George Moir, * — made sae tastefu' a 
sketch o' — there, wull ye believe me — were lyin five-and- 
twunty eels and five-and-twunty pikes— in all saxty— till I 
could hae dreamt that the meadow had been part o' the bay 
that moment drained by some sort o' subterraneous suction — 
and that a' the fishy.lif e the water had contained was noo 
wallopin and wringlin in the sudden sunshine o' unexpected 

* A distinguished member of the Scottish bar, and the writer of many 
admirable papers in Blackioood's Magazine; for some time Professor of 
Rhetoric and Belles-Lettres in the University of Edinburgh, and afterwards 
Sheriff of Ross-shire. 



Of Eels and Fike. 507 

day. I brak a branch aff an ash, and ran in among them wi* 
my rung, lounderin awa richt and left, and loupin out o' the 
way o' the pikes, some of which showed fecht, and offered to 
attack me on my ain element, and I was obliged to wrestle 
wi' an eel that speeled up me till his faulds were wounded 
lound my legs, theeghs, and body, in ever sae mony plies, 
and his snake head — och ! the ugly auld serpent — thrust out- 
ower my shouther — ^and hissin in my face — till I flang him a 
fair back fa', and then ruggin him frae me — fauld by fauld 
— strechtened him out a' his length — and treddin on his tail, 
sent his wicket speerit to soom about on the fiery lake wi' his 
faither, the great dragon. 

North (in the . Arbor). Ha ! ha ! ha ! our inimitable pastor 
has reached his grand climacteric ! 

Tickler [in the Shed). And where, my dear James, are they 
all ? Did you bring them along with you ? 

Shepherd. I left the pikes to be fetched forrit by the Moffat 
carrier. 

Tickler. And the eels ? 

Shepherd. The serpent I overthrew had swallowed up all 
the rest. 

Tickler. We must send a cart for him — dead stomachs do 
not digest ; and by making a slit in his belly we shall recove? 
the rest — rlittle the worse for wear — and letting them loose in 
the long grass, have an eel hunt. 

North {in the Arbor). Who can give me a bit of sticking- 
plaster ? 

Shepherd. I prophesied you would cut yoursel. There's nae 
stickin-plaister about the toun; but here's an auld bauchle,* 
and if onybody will lend me a knife, I'se cut aff a bit o' the 
sole, and when weel soaked wi' bluid, it '11 stick like a sooker 
— or I can cut aff a bit waddin frae this auld hat — some 

* Bauchle— BJi old shoe, crushed into a sort of slipper. 



608 Lord North and the Forest King. 

tramper's left ahint her baith hat and bauchle — and it may 
happen to stainch the bludin — or best of a', let me rug aff a 
bit o' this remnant o' an auld sheep-skin that maun hae 
belanged to the foot-board o' some gig — and wi' the woo 
neist your skin, your chin will be comfortable a' the nicht — - 
though it should set in a hard frost. 

[Shepherd advmices to the Arbor — hut after a single glance 
into the interior^ comes flying hack to his stance on the wings 
of fear. 
North (in the Arbor). James ? James ? James ? 
Shepherd. A warlock ! A warlock ! A warlock ! The king 
o' the warlocks ! The king o' the warlocks ! The king o' the 
warlocks ! 

l_From the Arbor issues Christopher in the character of 

Lord North — in a rich court dress — hag and wig — 

chapeau-hras — and sword. 

North (kneeling on one knee). Have I the honor to be 

in presence of Prince Charles Edward Stuart Hogg ? My 

sovereign liege and no Pretender — accept the homage of 

your humble servant — too proud of his noble king to be a 

slave. 

Shepherd (graciously giving his hand to kiss). Rise ! 
[^Fro7n the Shed issues Timothy in the regimentals of the Old 
Edinbwgh Volunteers. 

Tickler {kneeling on one knee). Hail ! King of the Forest ! 
Shepherd {graciously giving his hand to kiss). Rise ! — Let 
Us — supported on the arms of Our two most illustrious sub- 
jects — enter Our Palace. 

[Enter the Forest King and the two Lords in Waiting into 
Tibbie's. 



A Wren's Nest or an Ant-hill ? 509 

Scene II. — Interior q/* Tibbie's — Grand Hall, or Kitchen 

Parlor, 

North, Tickler, and Shepherd. 

Shepherd. A cosy bield, sirs, this o' Tibbie's — just like a 
bit wren's nest. 

North, Methinks 'tis liker an ant-hill. 

Techier, Beehive. 

Shepherd, A wren's nest's round and theekit wi' moss — sae 
is Tibbie's ; a wren's nest has a wee bit canny hole in the 
side o't for the birdies to hap in and out o', aiblins wi' a 
hangin leaf to hide and fend by way o' door — and sae has 
Tibbie's ; a . wren's nest's aye dry on the inside, though 
drappin on the out wi' dew or rain — and sae is Tibbie's ; a 
wren's nest's for ordinar biggit in a retired spat, yet within 
hearin o' the hum o' men, as weel's o' water, be it linn or 
lake — and sae is Tibbie's ; a wren's nest's no easy fund, yet 
when you happen to keek on't, ye wunner hoo ye never saw 
the happy housie afore — and sae is't wi' Tibbie's ; therefore, 
sirs, for sic reasons, and a thousand mair, I observed, "a 
cosy bield this o' Tibbie's — just like a bit wren's nest." Sir ? 

North. An ant-hill's like some small natural eminence 
growing out of the green ground — and so is Tibbie's ; an 
ant-hill is prettily thatched with tiny straw and grass-blades, 
and leaves and lichens — and so is Tibbie's ; an ant-hill, in 
worst weather, is impervious to the elements, trembles not 
in its calm interior, nor — howl till ye split, ye tempests — 
at any blast doth Tibbie's ; an ant-hill, spontaneous birth 
of the soil though it seems to be, hath its own order of 
architecture, and was elaborated by its own dwellers — and 
how wonderfully full of accommodation, when all the" rooms 
at night become the rooms of sleep— just like Tibbie's ; an 



510 Or a Beehive f 

ant-hill, though , apparently far from market, never rmis out 
of provisions — ^nor, when " winter lingering chills the lap of 
May," ever once doth Tibbie's ; Solomon, speaking of an ant- 
hill, said, " Look at the ant, thou sluggard — consider her 
ways and be wise," — and so now saith North, sitting in 
Tibbie's ; so for these, and a thousand other reasons, of 
which I mention but one — namely, that here, too, as there, 
is felt the balmy influence of the mountain-dew — I said, 
" methinks 'tis like an ant-hill." Sir ? 

Tickler. A beehive is a straw-built shed, loving the lown- 
ness, without fearing the wind, and standing in a sheltered 
place, where yet the breezes have leave to come and go at 
will, wafting away the creatures with whom work all day 
long is cheerful as play, outward or homeward bound, to or 
fro among the heathery hills where the wild honey grows 
— and these are pretty points of resemblance to Tibbie's ; a 
beehive is never mute — ^for all that restless noise of industry 
siiaks away with the setting sun into a steady murmur, fit 
music for the moonlight — and so is it, when all the house- 
hold are at rest, in Tibbie's ; a beehive wakens at peep of 
day — its inmates losing not a glint of the morning, early 
as the laverocks waukening by the daisy's side— and so, well 
knows Aurora, does Tibbie's; a beehive is the perfection 
of busy order, where, without knowing it, every worker 
by instinct obeys the Queen — and even so seemeth it to be 
in Tibbie's ; so for these, and a thousand other reasons, of 
which I mention but two, that it standeth in a land over- 
flowing with milk and honey, and wanteth but an eke, I said 
— Beehive. Sir ? 

Shepherd. Xoo, that's what I ca' poetical eemagery applied 
to real life. 

North. There cannot be a doubt that we three are three 
men of genius. 



The Grame-hags are emptied. 511 

Shepherd. Equal to ony ither sax. 

Tickler. Hem! How rarely is that endowment united 
with talent like ours ! 

North. Stuff. A set of nameless ninnies, at every stum- 
bling step they take, painfully feeling their intellectual 
impotence, modestly abjure all claim to talent, of which no 
line is visible on their mild unmeaning mugs, and are satis- 
fied in their humility that nature to them, her favored 
blockheads — her own darling dunces — and more especial 
chosen sumphs — io compensation gave the gift of genius — 
the fire which old Prometheus had to steal from heaven. 

Shepherd. Bits o' Cockney creturs wi' mealy mouths, lookin 
unco weak and wae-begane, on their recovery frae a painful 
confinement consequent on the birth o' a pair o' twuns o* 
rickety sonnets. 

Tickler. A pair o' twins. Four ? 

Shepherd. Na — twa sonnets that 'ill iiever in this warld be 
able to gang their lanes, but hae to be held up by leading- 
strings o' red ribbons round their waists, or itherwise hae to 
be contented to creep or crawl like clocks. 

(Enter Billy and Palmer witJi their game-bags, which they 
empty on their division o/thejioor.) 

JVorth. Not a bad day's sport, James ? 
Shepherd, You dinna mean to tell me that you and Sooth- 
side, this blessed day, slew a' that ggem ? 

JVorth. We did — and more. 
(T^n/er Campbell anc? FiTZ-TiBBiE with their game-bags, which 
they empty on their division of the Jloor.^ 
Shepherd. You dinna mean to tell me that you and Sooth- 
side, this blessed day, slew a' that ggem ? 
North. "We did — arid more. 
{Enter Mon. Cadet and King Pepin with their game-bags, 
which they empty on their division of the floor.') 



512 Tke Gcmie-bar/s are emptied. 

Shepherd. You dinna mean to tell me that you and Sooth- 
Bide, this blessel day, slew a' that ggem ? 
North. We did — and more. 

{Enter Sir David Gam and Tappytookie with their game- 
hags, which they empty on their division of the Jioor.^ 

Shepherd. You dinna mean to tell me that you and Sooth- 
side, this blessed day, slew a' that ggem ? 
North. We do — and more. 

{Enter Ambeose and Peter with their game-bags, which 
they empty on their division of the floor.) 

Shepherd. You dinna mean to tell me that you and Sooth- 
side, this blessed day, slew a' that ggem ? ! ! Soothside ? 

Tickler. I do — and more. 

Shepherd. Then are ye twa o' the greatest leears that ever 
let aff a gun. 

North. Or drew a long bow. Where the deuce are the hares ? 

Tickler. Where the devil are the rabbits ? 

(Enter Rough Robin and Sleek Sam with their game- 
hags, which they empty on their division of the floor — that 
is, on the tahle.) 

Shepherd. Fourteen fuds ! Aucht maukins, and sax-bor- 
oughmongers, as I howp to be saved ! 

North. I read, with indignation and disgust, of the slaughter 
by one gun of fivescore brace of birds between eight o'clock 
and two. 

Shepherd. A chiel micht as weel pride himsel on baggin in 
a poutry-yard as mony chickens, wi' here and there an auld 
clockin hen and an occasional how-towdie- — and to croon a', 
the bubbly-jock himsel, pretendin to pass him aff for a caper- 
cailzie. But I ca' this sport. 

North. Which corner, James, dost thou most admire ? 

Shepherd. Let's no be rash. That nyuck o' paitricks kythes ^ 

* KytJies—BhosYS itself. 



The aor-Cock! 513 

unco bonny,' wi' its mild mottled licht — the burnished broon 
harmoniously mixin wi' the siller grey in a style o' colorin 
understood but by that sweet penter o' still life, Natur ; and 
a body canna weel look, without a sort o' sadness, on the 
closed een o' the puir silly creturs, as their heads — crimsoned 
some o' them wi' their ain bluid, and ithers wi' feathers, 
bricht in the pride o' sex, auld cocks and young cocks — lie 
twusted and wrenched by the disorderin haun o' death-— 
outower their wings that shall whirr nae mair — rich in their 
radiance as flowers lyin broken by the wund on a bed o' 
moss ! 

Tickler. James, you' please me much. . 

Shepherd. That glow o' grouse is mair gorgeous, yet bonnier 
it mayna be — though heaped up higher again' the wa' — 
and gloomin as weel as gleamin wi' a shadowier depth and a 
prouder pomp o' color. lavished on the dead. There's some- 
thing heathery in the hues there that breathes o' the wilder- 
ness ; and ane canna look on their legs — mony o' them lyin 
broken — sae thick cled wi' close, white, saft feathers — with- 
out thinkin o' the wunter-snaw ! The Gor-Cock ! His name 
bespeaks his natur — and o' a' the wild birds o' Scotland, nane 
mair impressive to my imagination and my heart. Oh ! how 
mony thousan' dawns have evanished into the forgotten warld 
o' dreams, at which I hae heard him era win in the silence o' 
natur, as I lay in my plaid by mysel on the hill-side, and 
kent by that bold trumpetin that mornin was at hand, 
without needin to notice the sweet token o' her approach in 
the clearer licht o' the wee spring-well in the greensward at 
my feet ! 

North. James, you please me much. 

Shepherd. Yet that angle o' black-cocks has its charms, too, 
to ma een, for though there's less vareeity in the colorin, 
and a fastidious critic micht ca' the spotty heap monotonous, 



514 The G-rey-Rens. 

yet, sullen as it seems, it glistens wi' a kind o' purple, sic as 
I hae seen on a lowerin clud on a mirk day, when the sun 
was shinin on the thunder, or on the loch below, that lay, 
though it was meridian, in its ain nicht. 

Tickler. James, you please me much. 

Shepherd. ! thae saft, silken, but sair ruffled backs and 
breists o' that cruelly killed crood o' bonny grey-hens and 
pullets — cut aff in their sober matronship and gleesome 
maidenhood — whilk the mair beautiful, 'twould tak a mair 
skeely * sportsman than the Shepherd to decide — I could 
kneel doun on the floor and kiss ye, and gather ye up in my 
airms, and press you to my heart, till the feel o' your feathers 
filled my veins wi' love and pity, and I grat to think that 
never mair would the hill-fairies welcome the gleam o' your 
plumage risin up in the morning licht amang the green plats 
on the slopin sward that, dippin doun in the valley, retains 
here and there amang the decayed birkwood, as loth to lose 
them, a few small stray sprinklens o' the heather-bells. 

Tickler. James, you please me much. 

North. I killed two-thirds of them with Old Trusty — slap 
— bang right and left, without missing a shot — 

Tickler. Singing out, " that's my bird," on a dozen occa- 
sions when it dropped at least a hundred and fifty yards — • 
right in an opposite direction — from the old sinner's nose. 

Shepherd. What was the greatest nummer ye brocht doun 
at a single discharge ? 

North. One. 

Shepherd. That's contemptible. Ye o' the auld Lake-school 
are never contented excepp ye kiver your bird, sae that if ye 
dinna tak them at the crossin, ye shoot a haill day without 
killin a brace at a blow ; but in shootin I belang to the new 
Mountain-school, and fire wi' a general aim intil the heart o' 

* /Sfcee^y— skilful. 



The Shepherd as a Shot. 515 

the kivey, and trusting to luck to gar three or four play 
thud ; and it's no an uncommon case to pick up half-a-dizzen, 
after the first fiaught o' fire and feathers has ceased to dazzle 
ma een, and I hae had time to rin in amang the dowgs, and 
pu' the ggem out o' the mouths o' the rabiawtors. It was 
nae farder back nor the day afore yesterday, that I killed and 
wounded nine — but to be sure that was wi' baith barrels — 
though I thocht at the time — for my een was shut — that I 
had only let aff ane — and wondered that the left had been 
sae bluidy, — but baith are gran' scatterers, and disperse the 
hail like chaff frae the fanners on a wundy day. Even them 
on the edge o' the outside are no safe when I fire intil the 
middle, and I've knawn me knock heels-ower-head mair nor 
ane belangin to anither sfit, that had taken win^ as I was 
ettlin at their neighbors. 

Tickler. I killed two-thirds of them, James. 

Shepherd. That's four-thirds atween you twa — and at whase 
door maun, be laid "the death o' the ither half ? 

Tickler. Kit with Crambo killed a few partridges in a turnip 
field, where they lay like stones — an old black-cock that had 
been severely if not dangerously wounded by a weasel, and 
fell out of bounds, I suspect from weakness — an ancient grey 
hen that flew at the rate of some five miles an hour — a hare 
sitting, which he had -previously missed — and neither flying 
nor sitting, but on the hover, that owl. How the snipe came 
into his possession I have not learned, but I have reason to 
believe that he found it in a state of stupor, and I should not 
be surprised were you, James, to blow into his bill, to see 
Jack resuscitated — 

Shepherd (^putting the snipe's hill into his mouth, and puffing 
into him the hreath of lifef. Is his een beginnin to open ? 

North. Twinkling like a duck's in thunder. 

Shepherd. He's dabbin. 



516 Tlie Shepherd^ s Dexterity. 

North. Hold him fast, James, or he'll be off. 

Shepherd. Let doun the wundow, Tickler, let doun the 
wundow. Oh ! ye clumsy coof I there he has struggled himsel 
out o' my hauns, and's aff to the mairsh to leeve on suction ! 
\_.Enter Tibbie a7id Dolly to lay the cloth, Sfc.) 

Tickler. Symptoms of dinner. 

Shepherd. Wi' your leave, sirs, I'll gie Mr. Awmrose the 
hares to pit intil the gig. 

[ Gives Mr. Abibrose the hares,who disappears four-in-hand. 

North. Whose gig, James ? 

Shepherd. Mine. I'm expeckin company to be wi' me a' 
neist week — and a tureen o' hare-soup's no worth eaten wi' 
fewer than three hares in't ; sae sax hares will just mak twa 
tureens o' hare-soup, and no ower rich either — and the third 
and fourth days we can devoor the ither twa roasted ; but for 
fear my visitors should get stawed o' hare — and auld Burton, 
in his anatomy, ca's hare a melancholy meat — and I should be 
averse to onybody committin suicide in my house — Tappy, 
my man, let me see whether you or me can gather up on our 
aucht iirio-ers and twa thooms the maist multitude o' the lesjs 
o' black-cocks, grey-hens, red grouse, and paitricks ; and gin 
ye beat me, you shall get a bottle o' whisky ; and gin I beat 
you, I shall not put you to the expense o' a gill. (Aside) — 
The pech has twa cases o' iiugers, wi' airn-sinnies, and I never 
kent the cretur's equal at a clutch. 

The Shepherd and Tappytoorie emulously clutch the 
game, and carry off some twenty hrace of sundries. 

Tickler. James, you please me much. 

North. You astonish me, James. 

Shepherd. Some folk are easily pleased, and some as easily 
astonished — but what's keepin the (ienner ? 

{Enter Tibbie, and Dolly, and Shushey, Ambrose, 
MoN. Cadet, Peter, Campbell, Billy, Palmer, 



A Highland Repast. 517 

Rough Robin, Sleek Sam, King Pepin, Sir Da vie 
Gam and Tappytoorie, loith black- grouse-soup, red- 
grouse-soup, partridge-soup, hare-soup, rabbit- so up, potato' 
soup, pease-soup, brown-soup , white-soup, hotch-potch,cocky- 
leekij, sheep'' s-head-broth, kail, and rumbledethumps.^ 

Shepherd. Oh, sir ! but you've a profound knowledge o* 
human natur ! Eatin at ane's ease, ane's imagination can flee 
up into the empyrean — like an eagle soarin up the lift wi' a 
lamb in his talons, and then fauldin up his wings, far aboon 
shot o' the fowler, on the tapmost o' a range o' cliffs, leisurely 
devourin't,* while ever and anon, atween the rugs, he glances 
his yellow black-circled een far and wide ower the mountain- 
ous region, and afore and after every mouthfu', whattin his 
beak wi' his claws, yells to the echoes that afar aff return a 
faint but a fierce reply. 

Tickler. Does he spit out feathers and fur ? 

Shepherd. He spits out naething — de^ourin bird and beast, 
stoop and roup, bones, entrails, and a', and leavin after his 
repast but a wheen wee pickles o' bluidy down, soon dried by 
the sun, or washed away by the rain, the only evidence there 
had been a murder. 

North. The eaHe is not a orlutton. 

Shepherd. Wha said he was a glutton ? 

North. Living constantly in the open air — 

Shepherd. And in a high latitude. 

North. Yes, James — for hours every day in his life sailing 
In circles some thousand feet above the sea. 

Shepherd. In circles, noo narrowin, and noo widenin, wi' 
sweepy waftage, that seems to carry its ain wund amang its 
wings — noo speerally wundin up the air stair-case that has 
nae need o' steps, till you could swear he was soarin awa to 
the sun — and noo divin doun earthwards, as if the sun had 
shot him, and he was to be dashed on the stanesintil a blash 



518 The Shepherd's Peril 

o' bluid ; but in the pride o' his pastime, and the fierceness 
o' his glee, had been that self-willed headlong descent frae 
the. bosom o' the blue lift, to within fifty fathom o' the croon 
of the greenwood — for suddenly slantin awa across the chasm 
through the mist o' the great cataract, he has already voyaged 
a league o' black heather, and, eein ^ anither arc o' the merid- 
ian, taks majestic possession of a new domain in the sky. 

Ticklir. No wonder he is sharp set. 

Shepherd. I was ance in an eagle's nest. 

TicJder. When a child ? 

Shepherd. A man — and no sae very a young ane. I was let 
doun the face o' the red rocks of Loch Aven, that affront 
Cairngorm, about a quarter of a mile perpendicular, by a hair 
rape, and after swingin like a pendulum for some minutes 
back and forrit afore the edge o' the platform, I succeeded in 
establishin mysel in the eyrie. 

Tickler. What a fright the poor eaglets must have got ! 

Shepherd. You ken naething about eaglets. Wi' them fear 
and anger's a'. ane — and the first thing they do when taken 
by surprise amang their native sticks by man or beast, is to 
fa' back on their backs, and strike up wi' their talons, and 
glare wi' their een, and snap wi' their beaks, and yell like a 
couple o' hell-cats. Providentially their feathers werena fu' 
grown, or they would hae flown in my face and driven me 
ower the cliff. 

Tickler. Were you not armed ? 

Shepherd. What a slaughter-house ! — What a cemetery f 
Haill hares, and halves o' hares, and lugs o' hares, and fuds o' 
hares, and tatters o' skins o' hares, a' confused wi' the flesh 
and feathers o' muirfowl and wild dyucks, and ither kinds o' 
ggem, fresh and rotten, undevoored and digested animal 
maitter mixed in blue-mooldy or bloody-red masses — emittin 

.* Eeln—Qyemg. 



In an EagWs West. 519 

a strange charnel-honse, and yet lardner-smell — thickenin the 
air o' the eyrie — ^for though a blast cam sughin by at times, 
it never was able to carry awa ony o' the stench, which I was 
obliged to breathe, till I grew sick, and feared I was gaun to 
swarf, and fa' into the loch that I saw, but couldna hear, far 
doun below in anither warld. 

TicMer. No pocket-pistol ? 

Shepherd. The Glenlivet was ma salvation. I took a richt 
gude wullie-waucht *' — the mistiness afore ma een cleared awa 
— the waterfa' in my lugs dried up — the soomin in my head 
subsided — my stamack gied ower bockin — and takin my seat 
on a settee, I began to inspect the premises wi' mair precee- 
sion, to mak a verbal inventory o' the furnitur, and to study 
the appearance or character o' the twa guests that still con- 
tinued lyin back on their backs, and regardin me wi' a malig- 
nity that was fearsome, but noo baith mute as death. 

North. They had made up their minds to be murdered. 

Shepherd. I suspect it was the ither way. A' on a sudden 
doun comes a sugh frae the sky — and as if borne each on a 
whurlwund— the yell and the glare o' the twa-auld birds ! A 
mortal man daurin to invade their nest ! And they dashed 
at me as if they wad hae dung me intil the rock — for my 
back was at the wa' — and I was haudin on wi' my hauns — ■ 
and aff wi' my feet frae the edge o' the hedge — and at every 
buffet I, like an inseck, clang closer to the cliff. Dazed wi' 
that incessant passin to and fro o' plumes, and pennons, and 
beaks, and talons, rushin and rustlin and yellin, I shut my 
een, and gied mysel up for lost ; when a' at ance a thocht 
struck me that I would coup the twa imps ower the brink, 
and that the parent birds would dive doun after them to the 
bottom o' the abyss. 

Tickler. What presence of mind ! 

* WnUie-VKi'iicht — large drniight. 



520 The Shepherd's Peril 

North. GeniiLS ! 

Shepherd. I flang myself on them — and I hear them yet iu 
the gullerals. They were eatin intil ray inside ; and startin 
up wi' a' their beaks and a' their talons inserted, I flang aS 
my coat and waistcoat, and them stickin till't, ower the pre- 
cipice ! 

TicMer. Whew! 

Shepherd. Ay — ye may weel cry whew ! Dreadfu' was the 
yellin, for ae giaif and ae glint ;/^far doun it deadened ; and 
then I heard nocht. After a while I had courage to lay 
mysel doun on my belly, and look ower the brink — and I saw 
the twa auld eagles wheelin and skimmin, and dashin amang 
the white breakers o' the black loch, madly seekin to save the 
drownin demons,, but their talons were sae entangled in the 
tartan, and after floating avr hile wi' flappin wings in vain, they 
gied ower strugglin, and the wreck drifted towards the shore " 
wi' their dead bodies. 

TicMer. Pray, may I ask, my dear Shepherd, how you 
returned to the top ? 

Shepherd. There cam the rub, sirs. My freens aboon, 
seeing my claes, wi' the eaglets flaffin, awa doun the abyss, 
never doubted that I was in them — and they set up sic a 
shriek ! Awa roun' they set to turn the richt flank o' the 
precipice by the level of the Aven that rins out sae yellow 
frae the dark-green loch, because o' the color o' the blue 
slates that lie shivered in heaps o' strata in that lovely soli- 
tude — hardly howpin to be able to yield me ony assistance, 
in case they should observe me attemptin to soom ashore — 
nor yet to recover the body gin "I was drooned. Silly creturs ! 
there was I for hours on the platform, while they were waitin 
for my corp to come ashore. At last, ashore cam what they 
supposed to be my corp, and stickin till't the twa dead 

* Aeglaffand ae glint— one glimpse and one flash. 



In an Eagle's Nest. 521 

eaglets, and dashing doun upon't even when it had reached 
the shingle, the twa savage screamers wi' een o' lichtning ! 

Tickler. We can conjecture their disappointment, James, on 
finding there was no corpse. 

Shepherd. I shouted — but natur's self ^eemed deaf ; I 
waved my bannet — but natur's self seemed blind. There 
stood the great deaf, blind, stupid mountains — and a' that I 
could hear was ance a laigh echo-like laughter frae the airn 
heart o' Cairngorm, 

Tickler, At last they recognized the Mountain-Bard ? 

Shepherd. And awa they set again to the tap to pu' me up ; 
but the fules in their fricht had let the rape drap, and never 
thocht o' lookin for't when they were below. By this time 
it was wearin late, and the huge shadows were stalkin in for 
the nicht. The twa auld eagles cam back, but sae changed, 
I couldna help pityin them, for they had seen the feathers o' 
them they looed sae weel wrapt up, a' drookit wi' death, in 
men's plaids — and as they keepit sailin slowly and discon- 
solately before the eyrie in which there was naebody sittin 
but me, they werena like the same birds ! 

North. No bird has stronger feelings than the eagle. 

Shepherd. That's a truth. They lay but twa eggs. 

North. You are wrong, there, James. 

Shepherd. Twa young ones, then, is the average ; for gin 
they lay mair eggs, ane's aften rotten, and I'm mistaen if 
ae eagle's no nearer the usual number than fowre for an eyrie 
to send forth to the sky. Then they marry for life — and their 
annual families being sma', they concentrate on a single 
sinner or twa, or three at the maist, a' the passion o' their 
instinck, and savage though they be, they fauld their wide 
wings ower the down in their " procreant cradle " on the 
cliff, as tenderly as turtle-doves on theirs, within the shadow 
o' the tree. For beautiful is the gracious order o' natur, 



522 TJie Shepherd'' 8 remorse. 

sirs, and we iiiauiiiia think that the mystery o' Jife hasna its 
ain virtues in the den o' the wild beast and the nest o' the 
bird o' prey. 

Tickler. And did not remorse smite you, James, -for the 
murder of those eaglets r 

Shepherd. Aften, and sair. What business had I to be let 
doun by a hair-rape intil the^ir birthplace? And, alas! how 
was I to be gotten up again — for nae hair-rape cam danglin 
atween me and the darkenin weather-gleam. I began to 
dout the efficacy of a deathbed rejoentance, as I tried to tak 
account o' my sins a' risin up in sair confusion — some that I 
had clean forgotten, they had been committed sae far back in 
youth, and never suspected at the time to be sins ava, but 
noo seemin black, and no easy to be forgiven — though bound- 
less be the mercy that sits in the skies. But, thank Heaven, 
there was- an end — for a while at least — o' remorse and re- 
pentance — and room in my heart onl^y for gratitude— for, as 
if let doun by hauns o' angels, there again dangled the hair- 
rape wi' a noose-seat at the end o't, safer than a wicker-chair. 
I stept in as fearless as Lunardi, and wi' my hauns aboon my 
head glued to the tether — and my hurdles, and a' aneath my 
hurdles, interlaced wi' a network o' loops and knots, I felt 
mysel ascendin and ascendin the wa's, till I heard the voices 
o' them hoistin. Landed at the tap, you may be sure I fell 
doun on my knees — and while my heart was beginning to beat 
and loup again, quaked a prayer. 

North. Thank ye, James. I have heard you tell the tale 
better and not so well, but never before at a Noctes. 

North {looking up at the Cuckoo^ Eight o'clock ! It is 
Saturday night — and Tickler and I have good fourteen miles 
to drive to the Castle of Indolence. 

" O blest retirement ! friend to Life's decline I " 

Our nags must be all bedded before twelve— for there must 



" T]u:Days are shortening. 523 

be 110 intrusion on the still hours of Sabbath. James, we 
must go. 

Shepherd, I declare I never observed Tibbie takin awa the 
dishes ! Sae charmed, sir, hae I been wi' your conversation, 
that I canna tell whether this be my first, second, or third 
jug? 

North. Your second. 

Shepherd. Gude nicht. 

\_XJiey Jinish the second jug, hut seem unwilling to rise. 

North. James, the days are fast shortening — alas — alas ! 

Shepherd. Let them shorten. The nichts 'ill be sae muckle 
the langer — and " mortal man, who liveth here by toil," hae 
mair time for waukin as weel as for sleepin rest. Wunter, 
wild as he sometimes is, is a gracious Season — and in the 
Forest I hae kent him amaist as gentle as the Spring. 
Indeed, he seems to me to be gettin safter and safter in his 
temper ilka year. Frost is his favorite son — and I devoutly 
howp there 'ill never be oiiy serious quarrel, atween them 
twa ; for Wunter never, looks sae cheery as when you see 
him gaun linkin haun in haun wi' fine black Frost. Snaw is 
Frost's sister, and she's a bonnie white-skinned lassie, wi' 
oharacter without speck or stain. She cam to see us last 
Christmas, but stayed only about a week, and we thocht her 
lookin rather thin; but the morning afore she "left us, I 
happened to see her on the hill at sunrise — and oh ! what a 
breist ! 

North. Like that of the sea-mew or the swan. 

Shepherd. Richt. For o' a' the birds that sail the air, thae 
twa are surely the maist purely beautifu'. Then they come 
and they gae just like the snaw. You see the mew fauldin 
her wings on the meadow as if she were gaun to be for lang 
our inland guest — you see the swan floating on the loch as if 



624 North cannot write a Song. 

she had cast anchor for the Wunter there — ^yoii see the snaw 
settled on the hill as if she never would forsake the snn who 
looks on her with saftened lieht — but neist mornin you 
daunner out to the brae — and mew, swan, and snaw are a' 
gane — melted into air — or flown awa to the sea. . 

North. These images touch my heart. Yet how happens 
it that my own imagination does not supply them, and 
that you, my dear Shepherd, have to bring them before 
the old man's eyes ? 

Shepherd. Because I hae genie. 

North. And T, alas ! have none. 

Shepherd. Dinna look sae like as if you was gaun to fa' 
a greetin — for I only answered simply a sim23le question, 
and was far frae meaning to deny that you had the gift. 

North. But I canna write a sang, Jamie — I canna write a 
sang ! 

Shepherd. Nor sing ane verra weel either, sir ; for, be the 
tune what it may, ye chant them a' to '' Stroudwater," and I 
never hear you without thinkin that you would hae made— 
a monotonous ane to be sure, but a -pathetic precentor. O 
but hoo touchingly would ye hae gien out the line ! * 

North. Allan Cunningham, and William Motherwell, and 
you, my dear James, have caught the true spirit of the oM 
traditionary strain — and, seek the wide world, where will 
there be found such a lyrical lark as he whom, not in vain, 
you three have aspired to emulate — sweet Robbie Burns ? 

Shepherd. That's richt, sir. I was wrang in ever hinting ae 
word in disparagement o' Burns's Cottar's Saturday Night. 
But the truth is, you see, that the subjeck's sae heaped up 
wi' happiness, and sae charged wi' a' sorts o' sanctity — sae 
national and sae Scottish — that beautifu' as the poem is — 

* To give out the line- -the preposterous practice' of reading out each lin^s 
of the psalm or hymn before singing it once prevailed in Scotland. 



" " Hoiv beautiful is Night.'''^ 525 

and really, after a', naething can be mair beautifu' — there's 
nae satisfyin either peasant or shepherd by ony delineation 
o't, though drawn in lines o' licht, and shinin equally wi' 
genius and wi' piety. That's it. Noo, this is Saturday 
nicht at Tibbie's — and, though we've been gey funny, there 
has been naething desecratiri in our fun, and we'll be a' 
attendin divine service the morn — me in Yarrow, and you, 
Mr. North, and Mr. Tickler, and the lave o' you, in 'Ettrick 
kirk. 

North. And, James, we can nowhere else hear Christianity 
preached in a more fervent and truthful spirit. 

Shepherd. Naewhere. . 

(Enter Campbell to tell the Qigs are at the door^ 

North, {sub dio). " How beautiful is night ! " 

Shepherd. That's Southey. In fowre words, the spirit o' 
the skies. 

North. Not one star. 

Shepherd, Put on your specks, and you'll see hunders. 
But they are saft and dim — though there is nae mist — only 
a kind o' holy haze — and their lustre is abated by the dews. 
I thocht it had been frost ; but there's nae frost — or they 
would be shinin clearly in thousans — 

North. Like angel eyes. 

Shepherd. A common comparison — yet no the waur for that 
— for a' humanity feels, that on a bricht starry nicht, heaven 
keeps watch and ward over earth, and that the blue lift is 
instinct wi' love. 

North. Where's the moon ? 

Shepherd. Looking at her a' the time wi' a gratefu' face, 
that smiles in her licht ! as if you were gaun to sing a sang 
in her praise, or to say a prayer. 

North. No halo. 

Shepherd. The white Lily o' the sky. 



526 Farewell to Tibbie. 

North. No rain to-morrow, Shepherd. 

Shepherd. No a drap. 'T\l^ull be a real Sabbath day. Ye 
see the starnies noo — dinna ye, sir ? Some seemin no farrer 
awa nor the moon — and some far ahint and ayont her, but 
still in the ■ same region wi' the planet — ithers retiring and 
retired in infinitude — and sma' as they seem, a' suns. Awfu' 
but sweet to think on the great works o' God ! — But the 
horses '.ill be catchin cauld — and a' that they ken is, that it's 
a clear nicht. Lads, tak care o' the dowgs, that they dinna 
break the couples, and worry sheep. You'll be at the Castle 
afore Mr. North — ^for it's no aboon five mile by the cut across 
the hills — and no a furlong short o' fourteen by the wheel 
road. — ( They ascend their Gigs.') — For Heaven's sake ! sir, tak 
tent o' the Norways ! Haco's rearin, and Harold's funkin — 
sic deevils ! 

Tickler. Whew ! Whew ! Whew ! D. I. 0. North ! Do 
— Da — Do — Tibi Gratias I Farewell — thou Bower of Peace I 



XXIX. 

IN WHICH THE SHEPHERD APPEARS FOR THE LAST 
TIME AS THE TERRIBLE TAWNEY OF TIMBUCTOO. 

Scene — Penetralia of the Lodge. Time — Ae toee short hour 
ayontthe Twal. 

North and Shepherd. 

Shepherd. It wasna safe in you, sir, to gie a' your domestics 
the play for a haill month in hairst, and to leeve incog a* 
alane by your single sel, in this Sanctum, like the last 
remaining wasp in its nest, at the close o' the hummin 
season ; — for what if you had been taken ill wi' some sort o' 
paralysis in your limbs, and been unable to ring the alarm- 
bell for succor ? Dinna ye see that you micht hae expired 
for want o' nourishment, without the neiborhood ha'in had 
ony suspicion that a great licht was extinguished, and that 
you micht hae been fund sittin in your chair, no a corp in 
claes, but a skeleton? You should really, sir, hae mair 
consideration, and no expose your freens to the risk o' sic a 
shock. Wall you promise ? 

North. You forget, James, that the milk-lassie called every 
morning, and eke the baker's boy — except, indeed, during 
the week I subsisted on ship-biscuit and fruitage. 

Shepherd. You auld anchorite ! 

North. Such occasional abstraction, my dear James, I feel 

527 



5S8 A Nocturnal Invasion. 

zo be essential to my moral and intellectual well-being. 1 
cannot do now without some utter solitude. 

Shepherd. But folk 'ill begin to think you crazy — and I'm 
no sure if they wad be far wrang. 

North. At my time of life, James, it matters not much 
whether I be crazy or not. Indeed, one so seldom sees a 
man of my age who is not a little so, that I should not 
wish to be singular — though, I confe?:s that I have a strong 
repugnance to the idea of dotage. Come now, be frank with 
your old friend, and tell me, if the oil in the lamp be low, 
or if the lamp itself but want trimming ? 

Shepherd. Neither. But the lamp's o' a curious construc- 
tion — a self-feedin, self-trimmin lamp — and, sure eneuch, 
at times in the gloom it gies but a glimmer — sae that a 
stranger micht imagine that the licht was on its last legs — ■ 
but would sune start to see the room on a sudden bricht as 
day, as if the window-shutters had been opened by an 
invisible hand, and let in a' the heavens. 

North. I never desire to be brilliant. 

Shepherd. Nor does the Day. 

NoHh. Nor the Night. 

Shepherd. There lies the charm o' their beauty, sir, just as 
yours. There's no ostentation either in the sun or in the 
moon, or in the stars, or in Christopher North. 

North. Ah ! you quiz ! 

[^Knocking at the front door and ringing at the front door 
hell, as if a section of guardians of the night were warn- 
ing the familif of fire, or a dozen devils, on their way 
back to Pandemonium, were wreaking their spite on 
Christopher's supposed slumbers. 

Shepherd. Whattt ca' ye thattt ? 

North (musing). I should not wonder were that Tickler. 

Shepherd. Then he maun be in full tail as weel's figg, or 



Tickler is punished. 529 

else a Breearious. ( Uproar rather inc7'eases). They'i'e surely 
usin sledge-hammers ! or are they but ca'in awa wi' their 
cuddie-heels ? * W"e~ ocht to be gratef u' , howsomever, that 
they've settled the bell. The wire-rope's brak. 

North {gravely). I shall sue Southside for damages. 

Shepherd. Think ye, sir, they'll burst the door? 

North (smiling contemptuously). Not unless they have 
brought with them Mons Meg.f But there is no occasion for 
the plural number — 'tis that singular sinner Southside. 

Shepherd. Your servants maun be the Seven Sleepers. 

North. They have- orders never to be disturbed after mid- 
night. (Enter Peter, in his shirt.) Peter, let him in—show 
him ben — and (whispers Peter, who makes his exit and his 
entrance, ushering in Tickler.zVz a Dreadnought, covered with 
cranreuch.X North and the Shepherd are seen lying on 
their faces on the hearth rug). 

Peter. Oh ! dear ! oh ! dear ! oh ! dear ! what is this I what 
is this ! what is this \ Hae I leeved to see my maister and 
Mr. Hogg lyin baith dead. 

Tickler (in great agitation) . Heavens ! what has happened! 
This is indeed dreadful. 

Peter. Oh ! sir ! oh ! sir ! it's that cursed charcoal that he 
.would use for a' I could do — the effluvia has smothered him 
at last. There's the pan — there's the pan ! But let's raise 
them up, and bear them into the back-green. 

(Peter raises the body of North in Ids arms — Tickler that 
■ of the Shepherd.) 

Stiff ! stiff ! stiff ! cauld ! cauld ! cauld ! deid ! deid ! deid ! 
Tickler {wildly). When saw you them last ? 

* Tlie iron arming on the heels of boots. 

t A piece of ordnance famous in Scottish history, and now placed on tne 
ramparts of Edinburgh Castle. 
X Cranreuch— hoar-frost. 



680 Tickler punishes the Shepherd. 

* 

J^eter. Oh, sir, no for several hours!* my beloved master 
sent me to bed at twelve — and now 'tis two half-past. 
Tickler {dreadfully agitated). This is death. 

Shepherd (seizing him suddenly round the waist) . Then try 
D3ath a wrastle. 

North {^recuperated hy ihe faithfid Peter). Fair play, Hogg ! 
You've hold of the waistband of his breeches. 'Tis a dog-fall. 

\_The Shepherd and Tickler contend fiercely on the rug. 

TicTder (uppermost). You deserve to be throttled, you 
swineherd, for having well-nigh broke my heart. 

Shepherd. Pu' him aff, North — pu' him aff — or he'll thrap- 
ple me ! Whr — whr— rrrr — whrrrr — 

[Southside is cliokod off the Shepherd, and takes his 
seat on the sofa with tolerable composure. Exit Peter, 

Tickler. Bad taste — bad taste. Of all subjects for a prac- 
tical joke, the worst is death. 

Shepherd. A gran' judge o' taste ! Ca' you't gude taste to 
break folk's bell-ropes, and kick at folk's front doors, when 
a' the city's in sleep ? 

Tickler. I confess the propriety of my behavior was prob- 
lematical. 

Shepherd. Problematical. You wad hae been cheap o't, 
if Mr. North out o' the wundow had shot you deid on the spat. 

North (leaning kindly over Tickler, as Southside is sitting 
on the sofa, and insinuating his dexter hand into the left coat- 
pocket of Timothy's Dreadnought). Ha! ha! Look here, Mr. 
Hogg ! (Exhibits a bell-handle and brass knocker.) Street 
robbery ? 

Shepherd. Hamesucken I * 

North. An accomplished Cracksman I 

Tickler. I plead guilty. 



• A Scottish law term, expressing assault and battery committed on a 
person iu his own house. 



The Transmigration of Souls. 531 

Shepherd. Plead guilty ! What brazen assurance ! Caught 
wi' the corpus delicti in the pouch o' your wrap-rascal. Bad 
taste — bad taste. But sin' you repent, you're forgien. Whare 
hae you been, and whence at this untimeous hour hae you 
come ? Tak a sup o' that. {Handing him the jug.) 

Tickler. From Duddingston Loch. I detest skating in a 
crowd — so have been figuring away by moonlight to the 
Crags. 

Shepherd. Are you sure you are quite sober ? 
Tickler. Quite at present.- That's jewel of a jug,. James. 
But what were you talking about ? 

Shepherd. Never fash your thoom — ^but sit douu at the 
side-table yonner. 

Tickler. Ha ! The Round ! {Sits retired^ 
Shepherd. I was sayin, Mr. Tickler, that I canna get rid o* 
a belief in the mettaseekozies or transmigration of sowls. It 
aften comes upon me as I'm sittin by mysel on a knowe in 
the Forest ; and a' the scenery, stedfast as it seems to be 
before my senses as the place o' my birth, and accordin to 
the popular faith where I hae passed a- my days, is then 
strangely felt to loss its intimate or veetal connection wi' 
my speerituality, and to be but ae dream-spat amang mony 
dream-spats which maun be a' taken thegither in a bewilder- 
in series, to mak up the yet uncompleted mystery o' my b.ein* 
or life. 

North. Pythagoras ! 
. Shepherd. Mind that I'm no wullin to tak my Bible-oath 
for the truth o' what I'm noo gaun to tell you — for what's 
real and what's visionary — and whether there be indeed three 
warlds — ane o' the ee, ane o' the memory, and ane o' the 
imagination — it's no for me dogmatically to decide ; but this 
I wull say, that if there are three, at sic times they're sae 
circumvolved and confused wi' ane anither, as to hae the 



632 The Shejjherd' s Expe^'iences 

appearance and inspire the feelin o' their bein' but ae warld 
— or I should rather say, but ae life. Th^ same sort o' 
consciousness, sirs, o' my ha'in experimentally belanged alike 
to them a' comes ower me like a thi-eefauld shadow, and in 
that shadow my sowl sits wi' its heart beatin, frichtened to 
think o' a' it has come through, sin' the first far-awa glimmer 
o' nascent thocht connectin my particular individuality wi' 
the universal creation. Am I makin mysel understood ? 

Tickler. Pellucid as an icicle that seems warm in the sun- 
shine. 

Shepherd. Yet you dinna see my drift — and I'm at a loss 
for words. 

Tickler. You might as well say you are at a loss for 
oysters, with five hundred on that board. 

Shepherd. I think on a cave^ — far ben, mirk always as a 
midnicht wood — ^except that twa lichts are burnin there 
brichter than ony stars — fierce leevin lichts — yet in their 
fierceness fu' o' love, and therefore fu' o' beauty — the een o' 
my mother, as she gently growls ower me wi' a' pur that 
inspires me wi' a passion for milk and bluid. 

Tickler. Your mother! The man's mad. 

Shepherd. A lioness, and I her cub. 

North. Hush, hush, Tickler. 

Shepherd. I sook her dugs, and sookin I grow sae cruel 
that I could bite. Between pain and pleasure she gies me a 
cuff wi' hgr paw, and I gang heid-ower-heels like a bit play- 
fu' kitten. And what else am I but a bit playfu' kitten ? 
For we're o' the Cat kind — we Lions — and bein' o' the royal 
race o' Africa, but ae whalp at a birth. She taks me mewin 
up in her mouth, and lets me drap amang leaves in the outer 
air — lyin doun aside me and enticin me to play wi' the tuft o' 
her tail, that I suppose, in my simplicity, to be itsel a separate 
hairy cretur alive as well as me, and gettin fun, as wi'.loups 



) - 



As a Lion^s Cub 633- 

and springs we pursue ane anither, and then for a minute pre- 
tend to be sleepin. And wha's he yon ? Wha but my Fai ther ? 
I ken him instinctively by the mane on his shouthers, and his 
bare tawny hurdies ; but my mither wull no let him come ony 
nearer, for he yawns as if he were hungry, and she kens he 
would think naething o' devoorin his ain offspring. Oh! the. 
first time I heard him crunch ! It was an antelope — in his 
fangs like a mouse ; but that is an after similitude — for then 
I had never seen a mouse — nor do I think I ever did a' the 
time I was in the great desert. 

North {removing to some distance). Tickler, he looks alarm- 
ingly leonine. 

Shepherd. I had then nae ee for the picturesque ; but out 
o' thae materials then sae familiar to my senses, I hae 
mony a time since constructed the landscape in which my 
youth sported — ^^and oh ! that I could but dash it aff on 
canvas ! 

North. Salvator Kosa, the greater Poussin, and he of Dud- 
dingston,* would then have to " hide their diminished 
heads." 

Bhejpherdft A cave-mouth, half-high as that o' Staffa : but 
no fantastic in its structure like thae hexagonals — a' ae sullen 
rock ! Yet was the savage den maist sweet — for frae the 
arch hung doun midway a mony-colored drapery, leaf-and- 
flower-woven by nature, who delights to beautify the wilder- 
ness, renewed as soon as faded, or else jDerennial, in spite o' 
a' thae suns, and a' thae storms ! Frae our roof strecht up 
rose the trees, wi' crowns that touched the skies. There hung 
the umbrage like clouds — and to us below how pleasant was 
the shade ! From the cave-mouth a green lawn descended to 
a pool, where the pelican used to come to drink — and mony 
a time hae I watched crouchin ahint the water-lilies, that I 

* The Rev. Mr. Thomson. 



634 Among the Palm-trees. 

micht spring upon her when she had filled her bag ; but if I was 
cunnin she was wary, and aye fand her way back unscathed 
by me to her nest. A' roun' was sand ; for you see, sirs, it was 
an oasis — and I suspeck they were palm-trees. I can liken a 
leaf, as it cam wavering doun, to naething I hae seen sin' syne 
but a parachute. I used to play with them till they withered, 
and then to row mysel in them, like a wean hidin itsel for 
fun in the claes, to mak its mother true ^ it wasna there- — till 
a' at ance I loupt out on my mither the Lioness, and in a, 
mock-fecht we twa gaed gurlin doun the brae — me generally 
uppermost — for ye can hae nae idea hoo tender are the mais fc 
terrible o' animals to their young — and what delicht the auld 
she ane has in pretendin to be vanquished in evendoun 
worryin by a bit cub that would be nae mair than a match for 
Rover there, or even Fang, Na — ye needna lift your heids 
and cock your lugs, my gude dowgies, for I'm speakin o' you 
and no to you, and likenin your force to mine when I was a 
Lion's whalp. 

Rover and Fang (leaping up and harking at the Shepherd). 
Wow — bow, wow — bow, wow, wow. 

North. They certainly think, Tickler, that 4ie must be 
either Wallace or Nero. 

Shepherd, Sae passed my days — and a happier young hob- 
bledehoy of a Lion never footed it on velveh pads alang the 
Libyan sands. Only sometimes for days — na, weeks — I was 
maist desperate hungry — for the antelopes and siclike creturs 
began to get unco scarce — pairtly frae being killed out, and 
pairtly frae being feared awa — and I've kent us obleeged to 
dine, and be thankful, on jackal. 

Tickler. Hung up in hams from the roof of the cave. 

Shepherd. But that wasna the warst o't — for spring cam 
— as I felt rather than saw ; and day or nicht — sleepiii or 

* True — trow, believe. 



spring in the Desert. 535 

waukin — I could get nae rest : I was verra feverish and 
rerra fierce, and keepit prowlin and growlin about — 

Tickler . Like a lion in love — 

Shepherd. I couldna distinctly tell why — and sae did my 
mither, wha lookit as if in gude earnest she wad tear me in 
pieces. 

Tickler. Whattt ? 

Shepherd. She would glare on me wi' her green een, as if she 
wanted to set fire to my hide, as you may hae seen a laddie 
in a wundow wi' a glass settin fire to a man's hat on the 
street, by the power o' the focus ; and then she would wallow 
on the sand, as if to rub aff ticks that tormented her ; and 
then wi' a shak, garrin the piles shower frae her, would 
gallop doun to the pool as if about to droon hersel — and 
though no in general fond o' the water, plowter in't like the 
verra pelican. 

Tickler. — 

*« Just like unto a trundling mop, 
Or a wild goose at play. 

Shepherd. The great desert grew a' ae roar! and thirty 
feet every spang cam loupin wi' his enormous mane, the 
Lion my father, wi' his tail, tuft and a', no perpendicular like 
a bull's, but extended horizontally ahint him, as stiff's iron, 
and a' bristlin — -and fastened in his fangs in the back o' the 
Lioness my mother's neck, wha forthwith began caterwaul in 
waur than a hunder roof-fu's o' cats, till I had amaist swarfed 
through fear, and forgotten that I was ane o' their ain whalps. 

Tickler. — 

" To show how much thou wast degenerate." 

Shepherd. Sae I thocht it high time to leave them to devoor 
ane anither, and I slunk aff, wi' my tail atween my legs, intil 
the wilderness, resolved to return to mv nnfive onRis never 



536 The Virgin of the Wild. 

mair. I lookit back frae the tap o' the sand-hill, and saw 
what micht hae been, or not been, the croons o' the palm- 
trees — and then glided on till I cam to auither " palm-grove 
islanded amid the waste " — as Sooth ey finely says — where 
instinct urged me to seek a lair ; and I found ane — no sae 
superb, indeed, as my native den — no sae magnificent — but 
in itsel bonnier and brichter and mair blissfu' far : safter, far 
and wide a' round it, was the sand to the soles and paums o' 
my paws — for an event befell me there that in a day elevated 
me into Lionhood, an crooned me' wi' the imperial diadem of 
the Desert. 

Tickler. As how ? 

North. James ! 

Shepherd. In the centre o' the grove was a well, not dug 
by hands — though caravans had passed that way — but formed 
naturally in the thin-grassed sand by a, spring that in summei 
drought cared not for the sun — and round about that well 
were some beautifu' bushes, that bore flowers amaist as big's 
roses, but liker lilies. 

Tickler. Most flowery of the feline ! 

Shepherd. But, heavens ! ten thousand million times mair 
beautifu' than the gorgeous bushes 'neath which she lay asleep ! 
A cretur o' my ain kind ! couchant I wi' her sweet nose atween 
her forepaws ! The elegant line o' her yellow back, frae 
sliouther to rump, broken here and there by a blossom-laden 
spray that depended lovingly to touch her slender side ! Her 
tail gracefully gathered up amang the delicate down on which 
she reposed ! Little of it visible but the tender tuft ! Eyes 
and lips shut ! There slept the Virgin of the Wild ! still as 
the well, and as pure, in which her eemage was enshrined ! 
1 trummled like a kid — I heard a knockin, but it didna wauken 
her — and creepin stealthily on my gruff,* I laid mysel, without 

* (?ra#-beUy. 



She is taken Captive. 537 

growlin, side by side, a' my length alang hers— and as our fur 
touched, the touch garred me at first a' grue, and then glow 
as if prickly thorns had pleasurably pierced my verra heart. 
Saftly, saf tly pat I ae paw on the back o' her head, and anither 
aneath her chin — and tlien laid my cheek to hers, and gied the 
ear neist me. a wee bit bite ! — when up she sprang higher in 
the air, Mr. Tickler, than the feather on your cap when you 
was in the Volunteers ; and on recoverin her feet after the fa', 
without stayin to look around her, spang by spang tapped the 
shrubs, and afore I had presence o' mind to pursue .her, round 
a sand-hill was out o' sicht ! 

North. Ay, James — joy often drops out between the cup 
and the lip — or, like riches, takes wings to itself and flies 
away. And was she lost to thee for ever ? 

Shepherd. I lashed mysel wi' my tail — I trode and tore up 
the shrubs wi' my hind paws — I turned up my jaws to 
heaven, and yowled in wrathfu' despair — and then pat my 
mouth to the dust, and roared till the well began to bubble : 
then I lapped water, and grew thirstier the langer I lapped— 
and then searched wi' a' my seven senses, the bed whare her 
beautifu' bulk had lain — warmer and safter and sweeter than 
the ither herbage — and in rage tried to bite a bit out o' my 
ain shouther, when the pain sent me bounding aff in. pursuit 
o' my lovely lioness ; and lo ! there she was stealin alang by 
the brink o' anither nest o' bushes, far aff on the plain, pausin 
to look back — sae I thocht — ere she disappeared in her 
hiding-place. Round and round the brake I careered, in 
narrowing circles, that my Delicht should not escape my 
desire, and at last burst crashin in upon her wi' ae spang, 
and seized her by the nape o' the neck, as my father had 
seized my jnother, had pinned her doun to the dust. But I 
was mercifu' as I was Strang ; and being assured by her, that 
if I would but be less rampawgeous, that she would at least gie 



D"38 TJte Lio)iS Honey mooiu 

me a hearin, I released her neck frae my fangs, but keepit a 
firm paw on her, till I had her promise that she would agree 
to ony proposal in reason, provided my designs were honor- 
able — and honorable they were as ever were breathed by 
bosom leonine in the solitary wilderness. 
North. — 

** I calmed her fears, and she was calm, • 

Aiid told her love with virgin pride; 

And thus I won my Genevieve, 
My bright and beauteous bride." 

Shepherd. We were perfectly liappy, sir. Afore the hinny- 
moon had filled her horns, mony an antelope, and not a few 
monkeys, had we twa thegither devoored ! Oh, sirs ! but she 
was fleet ! and sly as swift ! She would lie couchin in a bush 
.till she was surrounded wi' grazing edibles suspeckin nae 
harm, and ever and anon ceasing^o crap the twigs, and 
playin wi' ane anither, like lambs in the forest, where it is 
now my lot as a human cretur to leeve ! Then up in the air 
and amang them wi' a roar, smitin them deid in dizzens wi' 
ae touch o' her paw, though it was safter than velvet — and 
singlin out the leader by his horns, that purrin she micht 
leisurely sook his bluid ; nor at sic times would it hae been 
«afe even for me, her lion and her lord, to hae interfered wi' 
her repast : for in the desert hunger and thirst are as fierce 
as love. As for me, in this respect, I was mair generous ; 
ind mony is the time and aft that I hae gien her the ftd-ljits 
i/ fat frae the flank o' a deer o' my ain killin when she had 
missed her ain by ower-springin't — for I never kent her 
spang fa' short — without her so much as thankin me, — ^for 
she was ower prood ever to seem gratefu' for pny favor — 
and carried hersel, like a Beauty as she was, and a spoiled 
Bride. I was sometimes sair tempted to throttle her ; but 
then, to be sure, a playfu' pat frae he« paw^ could smooth my 



Which Vainety of Lion ? 539 

bristles at ony time, or mak me lift up my mane for her de- 
liclit, that she micht lie domi bashfully aneath its shadow, or 
as if shelteriii there frae some object o' her fear, crouch pantin 
amang that envelopment o' hairy clouds. 

Tickler. "Whew ! 

North. In that excellent work. The Naturalist's Librari/, edit- 
ed by my learned friend Sir "William Jardine, it is observed, 
if I recollect rightly, that Temmihck, in his Monograph, 
places the African lion in two varieties — that of Barbary and 
that of Senegal — without referring to those of the southern 
parts of the continent. In the southern parts there are two 
kinds analogous, it would, seem, to the northern varieties — 
the yellow and the brown, or according to the Dutch colon- 
ists, the blue and the black. Of the Barbary lion, the hair 
is of a deep yellowish brown, the mane and hair upon the 
breast and insides of the fore-legs being ample, thick, and 
shaggy; of the Senegal lion, the color of the body is of a 
much paler tint, the mane is much less, does not extend so 
far upon the shoulders, and is almost entirely wanting upon 
the breast and insides of the legs. Mr. Burchel encountered 
a third variety of the African lion, whose mane is nearly 
quite black, and him the Hottentots declare to be the most 
fierce and daring of all. Now, my dear James, pardon me 
for asking whether you were the Senegal or Barbary Lion, 
or one of the southern varieties analogous to them, or the 
tliird variety, with the mane nearly black, that encountered 
Mr. Burchel ? 

Tickler. He must have been a fourth variety, and probably 
the sole specimen thereof ; for all naturalists agree that the 
young males have neither mane nor tail-tuft, and exhibit no 
incipient symptoms of such appendages till about their third 
year. 

Shepherd, Throughout the hale series o' my transmigration 



540 "-The Terrible Tawney of Timhuctoor 

o' sowl I hae -aye been equally ia growth and genius extra- 
ordinar precocious, Timothy ; and besides, I dinna clearly see 
hoo either Buffoon, or Civviar, or Tinnock, or Sir William 
Jarrdinn, or James Wulson, or even Wommle himsel, familiar 
as they may be wi' Lions in plates or cages, should ken better 
about their manes and the tuft o' their tails, than me wha 
was ance a Lion in propria persoiia, and hae thochts o' writing 
my ain Leonine Owtobiography wi' Cuts. But as for my 
color, I was neither a blue, nor a black, nor a white, nor a 
red Lion — thoiigh you, Tickler, may hae seen siclike on the 
signs o' inns — but I was the Terrible Tawney o' Tim- 
BUCTOO ! ! ! 

Tickler. What ! did you live in the capital ? 

Shepherd. Na — in my kintra seat a' the year roun'. But 
there was mair than a sugh o' me in the metropolis — mony 
a story was tauld o' me by Moor and Mandingo — and by 
whisper o' my name they stilled their cryin weans, and 
frichtened them to sleep. What kent I, when a lion, o' geo- 
graphy ? Nae map o' Africa had I ever seen but what I 
scrawled wi' my ain claws on the desert dust. As for the 
Niger, I cared na whether it flawed to meet the risin or the 
settin sun — but when the sun entered Leo, I used instinc- 
tively to soom in its waters ; and I remember, as if it had 
been yesterday, loupin in amang a bevy o' black girlies 
bathin in a shallow, and breakfastin on ane o' them, wha ate 
as tender as a pullet, and was as plump as a paitrick. It was 
lang afore the time o' Mungo Park ; but had I met Mungol 
wouldna hae hurt a hair o* his head- — for my prophetic sowl 
would hae been conscious o' the Forest, and however hungry, 
never would I hae harmed him wha had leeved oa the Twee^. 

North, Beautiful. Pray, James, is it true that your lioa 
prefers human flesh to any other^ — ^naj> after once lasting it| 
that he uniformly becomes an anthropophagus ? 



The Tawneys Favorite Dish. 541 

Shepherd. He maj or he may not uniformly become an 
anthropophagus, for I kenna what an anthropophagus is ; but 
as to preferring human flesh to ony ither, that depends on 
the particular kind o' human flesh. I presume, when I was 
a lion, that I had the ordinar appetencies o' a lion — that is, 
tliat I was rather aboon than below average or par — and at 
a' events, that there was naething about me unleonine. Noo, 
I could never bring my stamack, without difficulty, to eat 
an auld woman : as for an auld man, that was out o' the 
question, even in starvation. On the whole, I preferred, in 
the long run, antelope even to girl. Girl doubtless was a 
delicacy ance a fortnight or thereabouts — but girl every day 
would hae been — 

Tickler. Toujours perdrix. * 

Shepherd. Just sae. Anither Lion, a freen o' mine, though, 
thocht otherwise, and used to lie in ambuscade for girl, on 
which he fed a' through the year. But mark the consequence 
— why, he lost his senses, and died ragin mad ! 

Tickler. You don't say so ? 

Shepherd. Instinctively I kent better, and diversified my' 
denners with zebras and quaggas, and such small deer, sae 
that I was always in high condition, my skin was aye sleek, 
my mane meteorous ; and as for my tail, wherever I went, the 
tuft bore aff the belle. 

North. Leo — are you, or are you not a cowardly animal ? 

Shepherd. After I had reached the age o' puberty my cour- 
age never happened to be put to ony verra severe trial, for I 
was aye faithfu' to my mate — and she to me — and jealousy 
never disturbed our den. 

Tickler. Any cubs ? 

Shepherd. But I couldnahae wanted courage, since I never 
felt fear. I aye took the sun o' the. teegger ; and though the 
rhinoceros is an ugly customer, he used to gie-me the wa' : 



542 His Fight with the U?iicorn. 

at sicht o' me the elephant became his ain trumpeter, and 
sounded a retreat in amang the trees. Ance, and ance onlj, 
I had a desperate fecht wi' a unicorn. 

North. So he is not fabulous ? 

Shepherd. No him, indeed- — he's ane o' the realest o' a' 
beasts. 

Tickler. What may be the length of his horn, James ? 

Shepherd. O' a dagger. 

North. Shape ? 

Shepherd. No speerally wreathed like a ram's horn — but 
strecht, smooth, and polished, o' the yellow ivory — sharper 
than a swurd. 

Tichler. Hoofs? 

Shepherd. His hoofs al'e no cloven, and he's no unlike a 
horse. But in place o' nicherin like a horse, he roars like a 
bull ; and then he leeves on flesh. 

Tickler. I thous^ht lie had been omnivorous. 

Shepherd. Nae cretur's omnivorous but man. 

North. Rare? 

Shepherd. He maun be very rare, for I never saw anither 
but him I focht. The battle was in a wudd. We're natural 
enemies, and set to wark the moment we met without ony 
quarrel. Wi' the first pat o' my .paw I scored him frae 
shouther to flank, till the bluid spouted in jettees. As he ran 
at me wi' his horn I joukit ahint a tree, and he transfixed it 
in. the pith — sheathin't to the verra hilt. There was nae use 
in flingin up his heels, for wi' the side-spang I was on his 
back, and fastenin my hind claws in his flank, and my fore- 
claws in his shouthers, I began at my leisure devoorin him In 
the neck. She sune joined me, and ate a hole into his inside 
till she got at the kidneys ; but judgin by him, nae animal's 
mair tenawcious o' life than the unicorn — ^for when we left 
him the remains were groanin. Neist mornin we went to 



Carried into the Oajntal. 543 

breakfast on him. but thae gluttonous creturs, the vulturs 
had been afore us, and he was but banes. 

North. Are j^ou not embellishing, James ? 

Shepherd. Sic a fack needs nae embellishment. But I 
confess, sirs, I was, on the first hearin o't, incredulous o' 
Major Laing's ha'in fand the skeleton stickin to the tree ! 

North. Why incredulous ? 

Shepherd. For wha can tell at what era I was a lion ? But 
it j)ruves that the banes o' a unicorn are durable as airn. 

North. And ebony an immortal wood. 

Tickler. Did you finish your career in a trap ? 

Shepherd. Na. I died in open day in the centre o' the 
great square o' Timbuctoo. 

TicMer. Ha, ha ! baited ? 

Shepherd. Na. I was lyin ae day by mysel — for she had 
disappeared to whajp amang the shrubs — waitin for some 
wanderin waif comin to the well — for thirst is stronger than 
fear in them that dwall in the desert, and they will seek for 
water even in the lion's lair — when I saw the head o' an un- 
known animal higli up amang the trees, browzin on the 
sprays — and then its lang neck — and then its shouthers — and 
then its forelegs ; and then its body drooj^in doun into a tail 
like a buffalo's — an animal unlike ony itlier I had ever seen 
afore — for though spotted like a leopard, it was in shape 
liker a unicorn — but then its een were black and saft, like 
the een o' an antelope, and as it lickit the leaves, I kent that 
tongue had never lapped bluid. I stretched mysel up wi' my 
usual roar, and in less time than it taks to tell't was on the 
back o' the Giraffe. 

Ambo. Oh ! oh ! oh ! oh ! oh ! oh ! 

Shepherd. I happened no to be verra hungry ; and my 
fangs — -without munchin — pierced but an inch or twa deep. 
Brayin across the sand-hills at a lang trot flew the caraelo- 



544 Se dies in the Great Square. 

pard — nor for hours slackened she her pace, till she plunged 
into the Black river — 

2'lcMer. The Niger. 

Shephet'd. — — swam across, and bore me through many 
groves into a wide plain, all unlike the wilderness round the 
Oasis we had left at morn. 

North, What to that was Mazeppa's ride on the desert-born ! 

Shepherd. The het bluid grew sweeter and sweeter as I 
drank — and I saw naething but her neck, till a' at ance 
staofoferin she fell doun — and what a sicht! Rocks, as I 
thocht them^-but they were houses— en circlin me a' round ; 
thousan's o' blackamoors, wi' shirts and spears and swurds 
and fires, and drums, hemmin the Lion — and arrows — like 
the flyin dragons I had seen in the desert, but no, like them, 
harmless — stingin me through the sides intil the entrails, 
that when I bat them brak ! You asked me if I was a 
cooard? Was't like a cooard to drive, in that condition, the 
haill city like sheep ? But a' at ance, without my ain wuU, 
my spangin was changed into sprawlin wi' my fore-feet. I 
still made them spin ; but my hind-legs were useless — my 
back was broken — and what I was lappin, sirs, was a pool o' 
my ain bluid. I had spewed it as my heart burst ; first fire 
grew my een, and then mist — and the last thing I remember 
was a shout and a roar. And thus, in the centre o' the great 
square o' Timbuctoo, the Lion died! 

North. And the hide of him, who is now the Ettrick Shep- 
herd, has for generations been an heirloom in the palace of 
the Emperor of all the Saharas ! 

Shepherd. Nae less strange than true. Noo, North, let's 
hear o' ane o' your transmigrations. 

North. Another night ; for really, after such painting and 

such poetry . . . Shall we have some beef a-la-mode, 

James ? 



The Old Man Eloquent. ~ 545 

Shepherd. Eh? 

{Beef a-la-mode.^ 

Shepherd (in continuatiori). What is Love o' Kintra but an 
amalgamated multitude o' sympathies in brethren's hearts ! 

North. Yes, James, that is our country — not where we 
have breathed alone ; not that land which we have lovjed. 
because it has shown to our opening eyes the brightness of 
heaven, and the gladness of earth ; but the land for which we 
have hoped and feared, — that is to say, for which our bosom 
has beat with the consenting hopes and fears of many million 
hearts ; that land, of which we have loved the mighty living 
and the mighty dead ; that land, the Roman and the Greek 
would have said, where the boy had sung in the pomp that 
led the sacrifice to the altars of the ancient deities of the 
soil. 

Shepherd. And therefore, when a man he would guard 
them frae profanation, and had he a thousan' lives, would 
pour them a' out for sake o' what some micht ca' superstitiouy 
but which you and me, and Southside, sittin there wi' hi& 
great grey een, would fearna, in the face o* heaven,, to ca' 
religion. 

Tichler. Hurra ! 

Shepherd. I but clench my nieves. 

North. James, the Campus Martius and the Palsesti^a — 

Shepherd. Sir ? 

North. where the youth exercised Heroic Ga;mes, were 

the Schools of their Virtue ; for there they were taking part 
in the passions, the power, the life, the glory that flowed 
through all the spirit of the nation. 

Shepherd. O' them, sir, the ggems at St, Ronan's are,, bufe 
on a sma' scale, and imperfect eemage. 

North. Old warriors and gowned statesmen, that frowned 
in marble or in brass, in public places, and in the porches of 



546 On the Fire of Patriotism. 

noble houses, tropbied monuments, and towers riven with 
the scars of ancient battles — the Temple raised where Jove 
had stayed the Flight — or the Victory whose expanded wings 
still seemed to hover over the conquering bands — what were 
all these to the eyes and the fancy of the young citizen, but 
characters speaking to him of the great secret of his Hopes 
and Desire* — in which he read the union of his own heart to 
the heart of the Heroic Nation of which he was One ? 

Shepherd. My bluid's tingiin and my skin creeps. Dinna 
stap. 

Worth. And what, James, I ask you, what if less noble 
passions must hereafter take their place in his mind ? — what 
if he must learn to share in the feuds and hates of his house 
or of his order ? Those far deeper and greater teelings had 
been sunk into his spirit in the years when it iS most suscep- 
tible, unsullied, and pure, and afterwards in great contests, 
in peril of life and death, in those moments of agitation or 
profound emotion in which the higher soul again rises up, all 
those high and solemn affections oi boyhood and youth would 
return upon him, and consecrate his warlike deeds with the 
noblest name of virtue thas was known to those ancient states. 

Shepherd. What was't ? Eh ? 

North. Patriotism. 

Shepherd. Ou ay. Say on, sir. 

North. Therefore how was the Oaken Crown prized which 
was given to him who had saved the life of a citizen ! 

Shepherd. And amang a people too, sir, whare every 
man was willin at a word to die. 

North. Perhaps, James, he loved not the man whom he 
had preserved ; but he had remembered in the battle that it 
was a son of his country that had fallen^and over whom he 
had spread his shield. He knew that the breath he guarded 
was part of his country's being. 



" Tlie Citizen of the World:' 647 

Shepherd. Mr. Tickler, saw ye ever sic een ? 

North. Look at the simple incitements to valor in the 
songs of that poet who is said to have roused the Lacede- 
monians, disheartened in unsuccessful war, and to have 
animated them to victory. "' He who fights well among the 
foremost, if he fall shall be sung among his people : or if he 
live, shall be in reverence fn their council ; and old men shall 
give place to him ; his tomb shall be in honor, and the children 
of his children." 

Shepherd, Simple incitement, indeed, sir, but as you said 
richtly, shooblime. 

North. Why, James, the love of its own military glory in 
a warlike people is, indeed, of itself an imperfect patriotism. 

Shepherd. Sir ? Wull ye say that again, for I dinna just 
tak it up ? 

North. Believe me, my dear Shepherd, that in every 
country there is cause for patriotism, or the want of such a 
cause argues defects in the character and condition of the 
country of the grossest kind. It shows that the people are 
vicious, or servile, or effeminate — 

Shepherd. Which only a confoonded leear will ever say o' 
Scotsmen.- 

North, The want of this feeling is always a great vice in 
the individual character ; for it will hardly ever be found to 
arise from the only justifiable or half-justifiable cause, namely, 
when a very high mind, in impatient disdain of the baseness 
of all around it, seems to shake off its communion with them. 
I call that but half-justifiable. 

Shepherd. And I, sir, with your leave, ca't a'thegither 
unjustifiable, as you can better explain than the simple 
Shepherd. 

North. You are right, James. For the noblest minds do 
not thus break themselves loose from their country ; but 



548 Is an Ignoble Aiiimal. 

thej mourn over it, and commiserate its sad estate, and 
would die to recover it. They acknowledge the great tie 
of nature — of that house they are — and its shame is their 
own. 

Shepherd. Oh, sir ! but you're a generous, noble-hearted 
cretur ! 

North. In all cases, then, the want of patriotism is sheer 
want of feeling ; such a man labors under an incapacity 6f 
sympathizing with his kind in their noblest interests. Try 
him, and yon shall find that on many lower and unworthier 
occasions he feels with others — that his heart is not simply 
too noble for this passion — but that it is capable of being 
animated and warmed with many much inferior desires. 

Shepherd. A greedy dowg and a lewd ane, — in the ae case, 
snarlin for' a bane — and in the ither, growlin for the flesh. I 
scunner at sic a sinner. 

North. Woe to the citizen of the world ! 

Shepherd. Shame — shame — shame ! 

North. The man who feels himself not bound to his coun- 
try can have no gratitude. 

Shepherd. Hoo selfish and cauld-hearted maun hae been 
his very childhood ! 

North. I confess that, except in cases of extreme distress, 
I have never been able to sympathize with — emigrants. 

Shepherd. I dinna weel ken, sir, what to say to that — but 
mayna a man love, and yet leave his country ? 

North. My dear James, I see many mournful meanings 
in the dimness of your eyes — so shall not pursue that sub- 
ject — but you will at least allow me to say, that there is 
something shocking in the mind of the man who can bear, 
without reluctance or regret, to be severed from the whole 
world of his early years — -who can transfer himself from the 
place which js his own to any region of the globe where he 



Tlie Shepherd's Last Speech^ 549 

can advance his fortune — who, in this sense of the word, can 
say, in carrying himself, "omnia mea mecum porto." 

Shepherd. That's. no in my book o' Latin or Greek quo- 
tations. 

North, Exiles carry with them from their mother country 
all its dearest names. 

Shepherd. And a wee bit name — canna it carry in it a 
wecht o' love ? 

North, Ay, James, the fugitives from Troy had formed a 
little Ilium, and they had, too, their little Xanthus. 

Tickler. " Et avertem Xanthi cognomine rivum." 

Sheflierd, You're twa classical scholars, and wull aye be 
quotin Greek. But for my part, — after a' those eloquent 
diatribes o' yours on the pawtriotism o' the auncients, I 
wudna desire to stray for illustrations ae step out o' the 
Forest. 

Tickler. Aren't ye all "Whigs ? 

Shepherd. Some o' a' sorts. But it's an epitome o' the 
pastoral warld at large— and the great majority o' shepherds 
are Conservatives. They're a thiukin people, sir, as ye ken , 
and though far frae bein' unspeculative, or unwillin to adopt 
new contrivances as sune's they hae got an insight intil the 
principle on which they work, yet a new-fangle in their 
een's but a new-fangle ; and as in the case o' its bein.' 
applied to a draw-well, they wait no only to see how it 
pumps up, but hae patience to put its durability to the 
proof o' a pretty lang experience, sae in the political aifairs 
o' the State — they're no to be taen in by the nostrums o' 
every reformer that has a plan o' a new, cheap constitution 
to shaw, but they fasten their een on't as dourly as on a 
dambrodd;* and then began cross-questionin the cheil — > 
quack or else no — on the vawrious bearings o' the main- 

* Dam firotZfZ— draft-board. 



550 On *' the Salvation of the Kintra,^' 

springs, wheels, and drags; and as sune's.thej perceive a 
hitch, they cry, Ha ! ha ! ma lad ! I'm thinkin she'll no rmup 
hill — and if ye let her lowse at the tap o' ane, she'll rattle to 
the deevil. 

North. And such too, my dear sir, don't you think, is the 
way of thinking among the great body of the agriculturists ? 

Shepherd. I could illustrate it, sir, by the smearin o' sheep. 

Tickler. And eke the shearing. 

Shepherd. Say clippin. The Wliigs and Radicals assert 
toon folks are superior in mind to kintra folks. They'll be 
sayin neist that they're superior to them likewise in body — 
and speak o' the rabble o' the Forest as ither people speak o' 
the rabble o' the Grassmarket. But the rural riff-raff are in 
sprinklins, in sma' families, and only seen lousin ane anither 
on spats forming an angle on the road-sides. Findlay o' 
Selkirk has weel-nigh cleaned the coonty o' a' sic — but in 
great toons, and especially manufacturin anes, there are haill 
divisions hotchin wi' urban riff-raff, and it's them ye hear at 
hustins routin in a way that the stots and stirks o' the Forest 
would be ashamed o' theirsels for doin in a bare field on a 
wunter day, when something had hindered the hind fra carryin 
them some fodder to warm their wames in the snaw. The 
salvation o' the kintra, sir, depends on the — 

Tickler. This will never do. North — this is too bad. See, 
'tis six ! 

North (rising, and giving his guests each his cdndle). We 
shall hear you another time, my dear Shepherd — but 
now — 

Shepherd. The salvation o' the kintra, sir, depends on 
the — 

North {touching first one spring and then another, while jig 
open two panels in the oak wainscoting^. You know your rooms. 
The alarm-bell will ring at twelve — and at one lunch will be 



Is left unfinished. 551 

on the table in the Topaz. I wish you both the nightmare. 
( Touches a springy and vanishes.^ 

Shepherd. Mr. Tickler ! I say the salvation o' the country— 
baith gane ! — I'm no sleepy — ^but I'll rather sleep than solilo 
queese. ( Vanishes.) 

Sic Transeunt Noctes Ambrosian^. 



THE APPENDIX. 



I. NOTICES BY PROFESSOR FERRIER 
II. GLOSSARY OF SCOTCH WORDS. 



APPENDIX. 



L^NOTIGES OF TIMOTHY TICKLER AND 
THE ETTRIGK SHEPHERD, 

BY PROFESSOR FERRIER. 

Ambrose's was situated in the vicinity of West' Register Street, 
at the back of the east end of Princes Street, and close to the 
Register Office. Here stood the tavern from which the Nodes 
Ccenceque, commemorated in these volumes, derived their name. 

A cursed spot, 'tis sad, in days of yore ; 

But nothing ails it now— tlie place is merry I " 

But a too literal interpretation is not to be given to the scene 
of these festivities. Ambrose's Hotel was indeed " a local hab- 
itation and a name," and many were the meetings which Pro- 
fessor Wilson and his friends had within its walls. But the 
true Ambrose's must be looked for only in the realms of the im- 
agination — the veritable scene of the " Ambrosian nights "ex- 
isted nowhere but in their Author's brain, and their flashing 
fire was struck out in solitude by genius, wholly independent 
of the stimulus of companionship. 

The same remark applies to the principal characters who take 
part in these dialogues. Although founded to some extent on 
the actual, they are in the highest degree idealized. Christo* 
pher North was Professor Wilson himself, and here, therefore, 
the real and the ideal may be viewed as coincident. But Tim- 
othy Tickler is a personage whose line'aijaents bear a resemblance 
to those of their original only in a few fine although unmistak 



556 Appendix. 

able outlines, while James Hogg in the flesh was but a faint ad- 
umbration of the inspired Shepherd of the Noctes. 

Mr. Robert Sym (the prototype of Timothy Tickler) was bora 
in 1750, and died in 1844 at the age of ninety-four, having re- 
tained to the last the full possession of his faculties, and en- 
joyed uninterrupted good health to within a very few years ot 
liis decease. He followed the profession of Writer to the Sig- 
net from 1775 until the close oi: that century, when he retired 
from business on a con. pe tent fortune. He was uncle to Pro- 
fessor Wilson by the mother's side, and his senior by some 
five-and-thirty years. He thus belonged to a former generation, 
and had passed his grand climacteric long before the establish- 
ment of "Blackwood's Magazine," with which he had no con- 
nection whatever beyond taking an interest in its success. And 
although his conviviality flowed down upon a later stock, and 
was never more heartily called forth than when in the company 
of his nephew, these circumstances must of themselves have 
prevented the Author of the " ]S^octes " from trenching too closely 
on reality in his efligation of Timothy Tickler. 

Mr Sym's portrait in the character of Timothy Tickler is 
sketched more than once in the course of the " Noctes Ambrosi- 
anse." But the following description of him by the Ettrick 
Shepherd is so graphic, and for the most part so true, that I 
cannot resist the pleasure of transcribing it : — 

" I had never heard," says Hoggin his 'Reminiscences of 
Former Days,'* " more than merely his [Mr Sym's] name, and 
imagined him to be some very little man about Leith. Judge 
of my astonishment when I was admitted by a triple-bolted door 
into a grand house f in St. George's Square, and introduced to its 
lord, an uncommonly fine-looking elderly gentleman, about 
seven feet high, and as straight as an arrow ! His hair was 
whitish, his complexion had the freshness and ruddiness of youth, 
his looks and address full of kindness and benevolence ; but 
whenever he stood straight up (for he always had to stoop about 

* Prefixed to « Altrive Tales,' ty tlie Ettrick Sliepherd. London, 1832. 
t This is a sliglit exaggeration. Mr Sym's liouse, though sufficiently com 
modious, was a hachelor domicile of very moderate dimensions. 



Notices hy Professor -F err ier. 557 

half-v/ay 'vvhen speaking to a common-sized man like me), then 
you could not help perceiving a little of the haughty air of the 
determined and independent old aristocrat. 

" From this time forwaid, during my stay in Edinburgh, 
Mr. Sym's hospitable mansion was the great evening resort of 
his three nephews* and mp ; sometimes there were a few friends 
beside, of whom Lockhart and Samuel Andersonf were mostly 
two, but we four for certain ; and there are no jovial evenings 
of my by-past life which I reflect on with greater delight than 
those. Tickler is completely an original as any man may see 
who has attended to his remarks ; for there is no sophistry there, 
— ^they are every one his own. N"ay, I don't believe that North 
has, would, or durst, put a single sentence into his mouth that 
had not proceeded oat of it. J I*^o, no ; although I was made a 
scape-goat, no one, and far less a nephew, might do so with 
Timothy Tickler. His reading, both ancient and modern, is 
boundless, § his taste and perception acute beyond those of most 
other men ; his satire keen and biting, but at the same time 
his good-humor is a^ltoge^her inexhaustible, save when ignited 
by coming in collision with Whig or Radical principles. Still, 
there being no danger of that with me, he and I never differed 
in one single sentiment in our lives, excepting as to the com- 
parative merits of sbme strathspey reels. 

* Professor Wilson, Mr. Robert Sym Wilson, Manager of tlie lloyal Bank 
of Scotland, and Mr. James V/ilson, the eminent naturalist. 

|- Samuel Anderson makes Ms appearance at page 440. 

X This observation is very v/ide of the mark, Assuredly Mr. Fym was no 
consenting party to the slight liberties which were taken with him in the 
'•Noctes," and it is not to be supposed that he had more than a faint suspicion 
of his resemblance to the redoubted Timothy. What Hogg says in regard to 
the vigor of Mr. Sym's talents, and the originality and pointedness of his 
remarks, is quite true ; but had the nephew ventured to report any of the 
conversations of the uncle, there cannot be a doubt that the " breach of priv- 
ilege" would have been highly resented by the latter. Butthe Professor had 
too much tact for that. He took good care not to sail too near the wind ; and 
the utmost that can be said is, that the language and sentiments of Mr. Sym 
bore some general resemblance, and supplied a sort of groundwork, to the 
conversational characteristics of Mr. Tickler. 

§ This alsojs incorrect. Mr. Sym's reading, although accurate and intelli- 
gent so far as it went, was by no means unbounded. It was limited to our best 
British classics and of these his special favorites were Hume and Swift. 



558 ^ Appendix. 

" But the pleasantest part of our fellowship is yet to descn be. 
At a certain period of the night our entertainer kiiew, by the 
longing looks which I cast to a beloved corner of the dining-room, 
what was wanting. Then, with " Oh, I beg your pardon, Hogg, T 
was forgetting," he would take out a small gold key that hung by 
a chain of the same precious metal from a particular button-hole, 
and stalk away as tall as the life, open two splendid fiddle-cases 
and produced their contents ; first the one and then the other, 
but always keeping the best to himself. I'll never forget with 
what elated dignity he stood straight up in the middle of that 
floor and rosined his bow; there was a twist of the lip and an up- 
ward beam of the eye that were truly sublime. Then down we 
sat side by side, and began — at first gently, and with easy mo- 
tion, like skilful grooms keeping ourselves up for the final heat, 
which was slowly but surely approaching. At. the end of every 
tune we took a glass, and still our enthusiastic admiration of 
the Scottish tunes increased— our energies of execution redoub- 
led, till ultimately it became not only a complete and well- 
contested race, but atrial of strength, to determine which should 
drown the other. The only feelings short of ecstasy which came 
across us in these enraptured moments were caused by hearing 
the laugh and the joke going on with our friends, as if no such 
thrilling strains had been flowing. But if Sym's eye chanced 
at all to fall on them, it instantly retreated upwards again in 
mild indigna,tion. 

To his honor be it mentioned, he has left me a legacy of that 
inestimable violin, provided that I outlive him.* But not for a 
thousand such would I part with my old friend." 

To this description I may be just permitted to add, that in the 
more serious concerns of life Mr. Sym's character and career were 
exemplary. To the highest sense of honor, and the most scru- 
pulous integrity in his professional dealings, he united the man- 
ners of a courtier of the ancient regime, and a kindliness of na- 
ture which endeared him to the old and to the young, with the 
latter of whom, in particular, he was always an especial favorite. 

* Hogg did not outlive liim. 



Notices hy Professor Ferrier. 559 

But the animating- spirit of the " Noctes Ambrosianse " is the 
Ettrick Shepherd himself. James Hogg was born in 1772, in a 
cottage on the banks of the Ettrick, a tributary of the Tweed ; 
and died at Altrive, near St. Mary's Loch — a lake in the same 
district — in 1835. His early years were spent in the humblest 
pastoral, avocations, and he scarcely received even the rudiments 
of the most ordinary education. For long " chill penury re- 
pressed his noble rage ; " but the poetical instinct was strong' 
within him, and the flame ultimately broke forth under the 
promptings of his own ambition, and the kind encouragement of 
Sir Walter Scott. After a few hits and many misses in various 
departments of literature, he succeeded in striking the right 
chord in the " Queen's Wake," w^hich was published in 1813. 
This work stamped Hogg as, after Burns (proxhnus sed longo in- 
ter vallo), the greatest poet that had ever sprung from the bosom 
of the common people. It. became at once, and deservedly, pop- 
ular; and by this poem, together with some admirable songs, 
imbued with genuine feeling and the national spirit of his coun- 
try, he has a good chance of being known favorably to posterity. 
But his surest passport to immortality is his embalmment in the 
*' Noctes Arabrosianse." 

In connection with this brief notice of James Hogg, I may 
take the opportunity of clearing up a point of literary history 
which has been enveloped in obscurity until now: I allude to 
the authorship of a composition which is frequently referred to 
in the " Noctes Ambrosianse," the celebrated ChaldeeMS. This 
trenchant satire on men and things in the metropolis of Scot- 
land was published in the seventh number of " Blackwood's 
Magazine." It excited the most indescribable commotion at the 
time — so much noise, indeed, that never since has it been per- 
mitted to make any noise whatever, this promising babe having 
been pitilessly suppressed almost in its cradle, in consequence of 
threatened legal proceediiirgs. A set of the Magazine containing 
it is now rarely to be met with. The authorship of this compo- 
sition has been always a subject of doubt. Hogg used to claim 
the credit of having written it. I have recently ascertained that 
to him the original conception of the Chaldee MS. is due; and 



560 Appendix. 

also that he was the author of the first thirty-seven verses of 
Chap. I., and of one or two sentences beside. So that, out of 
the one hundred and eighty verses of "which the W'hole piece 
consists, about forty are to be attributed to the Shepherd. Hogg, 
indeed, lorote and sent to Mr. Blackwood much more of the 
Chaldee MS. tlian the forty verses aforesaid ; but not more than 
these v^ere inserted in the Magazine ; the rest of the produc- 
tion being the workmanship of Wilson and Lockhart. Such is 
a true and authentic account of the origin and authorship of the 
Chaldee MS. •. . . To return to the Shepherd. 

There was a homely heartiness of manner about Hogg, and a 
Doric simplicity in his address, which were exceedingly prepos- 
sessing. He sometimes carried a little too far the privileges of 
an innocent rusticity, as Mr. Lockhart has not failed to note in 
his Life of Scott ; but, in general, his slight deviations from 
etiquette were rather amusing than otherwise. When we con- 
sider the disadvantages with which he had to contend, it must 
be admitted that Hogg was, in all respects, a very remarkable 
man. Li his social hours, a naivete'^ and a vanity which dis- 
armed displeasure by the openness and good-hiimor with which 
it was avowed, played over the surface of a nature which at 
bottom was sufficiently shrewd and sagacious ; but his conver- 
sational powers were by no means pre-eminent. He never, in- 
deed, attempted any colloquial display, although there was 
sometimes a quaintness in his remarks, a glimmering of droll- 
ery, a rural freshness, and a tinge of poetical coloring, which re- 
deemed his discourse from common place, and supplied to the 
consummate artist who took him in hand the hints out of 
which to construct a character at once original, extraordinary, 
and delightful — a character of which James Hogg undoubtedly 
furnished the germ, but which, as it expanded under the hands 
of its artificer, acquired a breadth, a firmness, and a power to 
which the bard of Mount Benger had certainly no preten- 
sion. ... 

In another respect the dialect of the Shepherd is peculiar : it v 
is thoroughly Scottish, and could not be Anglicized without 
losing its raciness and spoiling entirely the dramatic propriety 



Notices hy Professor Ferrier. 561 

of his character. Let it not be supposed, however, that it is 
in any degree provincial, or that it is a departure from English 
speech in the sense in which the dialects of Cockneydom and of 
certain English counties are violations of the language of Eng- 
land. Although now nearly obsolete, it ranks as a sister-tongue 
to that of England. It is a dialect consecrated by the genius of 
Burns, and by the usage of Scott ; and now confirmed as classi- 
cal by its last, and in some respects its greatest, master. This 
dialect was Burns's natural tongue ; it was one of Sir Walter's 
most effective instruments ; but the author of the " l!^octes Am- 
brosianse, wields it with a copiousness, flexibility, and splendor 
which never have been, and probably never will be equalled. 
As the last specimen, then, on a large scale, of the national 
language of Scotland which the world is ever likely to see, I 
have preserved with scrupulous care the original orthography of 
these compositions. Glossarial interpretations, however, have 
been generally subjoined for the sake of those readers who la- 
bor under the disadvantage of having been born on. the south 
side of the Tweed. 



TI.— GL OSS ART. 



A'— all 

A bee — alone 

Abeigh — aloof 

Abooii — above 

Ackit — acted 

Acks — acts 

Acquent — acquainted 

Ae — one 

Afterhen d — afterwards 

Ahint — behind 

Aiblins — perhaps 

Aik — oak 

Airn — iron 

Airt — direction, point of the 

compass 
Aits — oats 
Alane — alone 
Amna — am not 
Ance — once 
Aneath — beneath 
Anent — concerning, abput. 
Aneueh — enough 



Ankil — ankle 

Argli ng — wran gling 

Ashet — an oblong dish 

Asks — lizards 

Ass-hole — ash-pit, or dust-hole 

A'thegither — altogether 

Ath ort — atli wart 

Atower — away from 

Atween — between 

Auchteen — eighteen 

Aughts — owns 

Auld — old 

Auld-woman — a revolving iron 

chimney- top 
Aumry — cupboard in a corner 
Ava — at all 
Awee — a little Avhile 
Awin — owing 
Awmous — alms 
Ax — ask 
Ayont — beyond 



B 



Back-o'-beyont (back-of -be- 
yond)— a Scotch slang phrase 
signifying any place indefi- 
nitely remote 

Backend — close of the year 

Baggy-mennon — a minnow, 
thick in the bellj^ 

Baikie — a bucket for ashes 



child 



Baird — beard 
Bairn — > 
Bairnie — ) 
Bairnly — childish 
Baitli — both 
B ak ief u's — bucketf uls 
Ballant — ballad 
Bane — bone 



G-lossar?/ of ^Scotch IVords. 



5G3 



Baiiieness — largeness and 

strength of bone 
Bap — a small flat loaf with 

pointed ends 
Bardy — positive • 

Barkened^ — hardened 
Bashed — somewhat flattened 

with heavy strokes or blows 
Bat — bit 
Bate — beat 
Bauchle — an old shoe crushed 

down into a sort of slipper 
Bank — one of a set of planks 

or spars across the joists in 

rude old Scotch cottages 
Bauld — bold 
Bawdrons — a cat 
Bawm — balm 
Bawn — band 
Bawns — banns 
Beek — to grow warm and 

ruddy before the fire; (beek 

in the hearth heat) 
Beetin — fanning and feeding a 

fire with fuel 
Beggonets — bayonets 

Begude — ) ° 

Belyve — soon 

Ben — into the room 

Beuk — book 

Bick — bitch 

Bield — shelter 

Big — to build 

Bike — swarm 

Bikes — nests of bees 

Biled — boiled 

Bill— bull 

Binna — be not 

Birk (tree) — birch 

Birks — birches 

Birks — beggar-my-neighbor, a 
game at cards 

Birr — force 

Birses — bristles ; metaphori- 
cally used in Scotland for 
angry pride 



Birzed — bruised 
Blab — a big drop 
Black-a-viced — of dark com- 

piexion 
Blash, (a) — a drench 
Blashin — driven by the wind 

and drenching 

Blate — bashful 

Blaw — blow 

Blawmange — 7 i, ^ 

-oi • ^ >• blanc-mange 

Bleimanch — \ ^ 

Blethers — rapid nonsensical 

talk 
Blin'— blind 
Blouterin — gabbling noisily 

and foolishly 
Blouts — large deep blots or 

stains scarcely dried 
Blude — blood 
Bocht — bought 
Bock — vomit 
Bodle — a small Scottish com, 

not now used 
Bogle — a goblin 
Bole — the cup or bowl of a pipe 
Bonny — handsome, beautiful 
Bonny fide— bona fide 
Bonspeil — a match at curling 
Boo — bow 
Bools — marbles 
Boord — board 
Bond — were bound 
Bouet — a hand-lanthoru 
Bouk — bulk 
Bourtree — elder-tree 
Bo wster— bolster 
Boyne — a washing- tub 
Brace-piece — mantel-piece 
Brackens — 1 f .„ '""-^ 
Brakens — ) 

Braes^ — slopes somewhat steep 
Braid — broad 
Brak — broke 
Branglin — a sort of superlative 

of wrangling 
Brassle— panting haste up a 

hiU 



r-()4 



Appendix. 



Brastlin — hasting up a hill 

toilsomely, and with heavy 

panting 
Braw — fine 

Breckans — see Brackens 
Breeks — trousers 
Breid — bread 
Breist — breast 
Brent — rising broad, smooth, 

and open 
Brewst — a brewing ; used in 

the test as the making of a 

jug or bowl of toddy 
Bricht — bright , 

I'iS- I bridge 
Brigg— ; ^ 

Brock — badger 

Brodd — board 

Broo — brow 

Broo'd — brewed 

Broon — brown 

Broose — a race at a country 

wedding 

Browst — see Brewst 



c 



Brughs — burghs 
Bubbl;^-jock — turkey-cock 
Buckles — a kind of sea-shell 
Bught — sheepfold 
Buird — a board ; used in the 

text as the low table on which 

a tailor sits 
Buirdly — tall, large, and stout 
Buirds — boards 
Bum — 'buzz 

Bumbee — the bumble-bee 
B u mmer — blue-bottle fly 

Bundl-}^^^^^*^ 

Bunker — window-seat 

Burd- board 

Burnie — rivulet 

Busked — dressed showily 

But — into an outer or inferior 

apartment 
By-gaun (in the by-gaun) — in 

going past 
Byre — cowhouse 
Byuckie — small book 



Ca'— call 

Cadfe-^ I street porter 

Caff— chaff 

Gallant — young lad 

Caller — afresh 

Came— comb 

Camstrary — unmanageable 

Canny (no canny). — Canny 

means gentle, but "no canny" 

is a phrase in Scotland for 

one with a spice of the power 

of a wizard or devil in him 

Cantrip — magical spell 

Canty — lively 

Carvey — the smallest kind of 
sweetmeats, generally put on 
bread-and-butter , for chil- 
dren 



Caucht — c aught 

Caudie — see Cadie 

Cauff — chaff 

Cauked — ^tipped with rough 

points, as horse-shoes are 

prepared for slippery roads 

in frost 
Cauldit — ^troubled with a cold 
Cauldrife — easily affected by 

cold ; in the text it is used 

as selfishly cold 
Cauler — fresh 
Caulker— a glass of pure spirits, 

a dram 
C ausey — causeway 
Caves — tosses 
Cavie — a hencoo]3 
Cavin — tossing 
Cawra — calm 



Grlossary of Scotch Words. 



565 



Cawnle — candle 

Chack — a squeeze with the 

teeth 
Chaclat — chocolate 
C hafts — jaws 
Chap — knock 
Chapped — struck, as a clock 

strikes 
Chapping — knocking 
Chap o' the knock — striking of 

the clock 
Chaumer — chamber 
Cheep — to complain in a small 

peevish voice 
Cheyre— chair 
Chiel — a fellow, a person 
Chirt — to press hard v>dth occa- 
sional jerks, as in the act of 
turning a key in a stiff lock 
Chitterin — shivering, with the 
teeth chattering at the same 
time 
Chop — shop 
Chevies — anchovies 
Chowin — chewing 
Chovvks — ^jaws 
Chow't — chew it 
Chrisseu'd — christened, bap- 
tized 
Chuckles — hens 
Chucky-stane — a small smooth 

round stone, a pebble 
Chumley — chimney 
Ciachan — a small village 
Clackins — broods of young 

birds 
Claes — cjothes 
Clapped (clapped een) — set 

eyes 
Clai'ts — mud 
Clash — a noisy collision 
CI aught — to clutch 
Clautin — groping 
Cleckin — brood 
Cleedin — clothing 
Cleek — a hold of anything, 



caught with a hooked instru- 
ment 

Cleemat — climate 

Cleugh — a very narrow glen 

Clink — cash 

Ciishmaclaver — idle talk 

Clockin — bent on hatching 

Cloits — falls heavily 

Clootie — the devil 

Cloots — feet [towns 

Closses — narrow lanes in 

Clour — a lump raised by a blow 

Clout — a bit of linen or other 
cloth 

Clud — cloud 

Cockettin — coquetting 

Cockit — cocked 

Cock-laird — yeoman 

Cocko-nit — cocoa-nut 

Codlin — a small cod 

Coft — bought 

Coggly — shaky from not stand- 
ing fair 

Collie — ^shepherd's dog 

C oily sh angle — squabble 

Connate — conceit 

Conceit — ingenious device 

Coo — cow 

Cooart — -coward 

Coof — a stupid silly fellow 

Cookies — soft round cakes of 

fancy bread for tea 
Coom — to blacken with soot 
Coorse — coarse 
Coots — ankles 
Copiawtor — ^plagiarist 
Corbies — carrion crows 
Corn-stooks — shocks of corn 
Cosh — neat 

Cosy snug 

Cotch — coach 
Cottie — small cottage 
Coup — upset 

Coupin-stane — cope-stone 
Couthie — frank and kind 
Covin — cutting 



566 



Appendix. 



Cozy — snug 

Crabbit — crabbed 

Crack — a quiet conversation 
between two 

Craig — neck 

Cran reuch — hoar-frost 

Crap-sick — sick at the stomach 

Crappit — cropped, made to. 
bear crops 

CraW' — a crow of triumph 

Creddle — cradle 

Creel — a fish basket 

CreenkJin — chuckling, with a 
small tinkling tone of tri- 
umph in it 

Creepi.e — a small low stool 

Creesh — grease 

Cretur — creature 

Crinkly — hoarsely crepitating 

Croodii] doos — cooing doves 

Croon — crown 

Crouse — brisk and confident 

Crowdy — a gruel of oatmeal 
and cold water 



Cruckit — crool^ed 

Cruds — curds, thickened milk 

Crunkled — a wrinkled roughs 

ness 
Crummle — crumble 
Cuddle — donkey, an ass 
Cuddie-hcsels — ^iron boot or shoe 

heels 
Cuff (cu£E o' the neck) — nape 

of the neck 
Cummers — female gossips. In 

the text the word simply 

means elderly wives 
Cuntra — country 
C urtshy — curtsy 
Custock — stalk of colewort or 

cabbage 
Cute — ankle 

Cutty — a frolicsome' little lass 
Cutty-mun — a slang phrase for 

a poor fellow's dance in air 

wdien he is hanged 
Cyuck — cook 



D 



Dab — peck, like a bird 

Dadds — thumps 

Dae — do 

Daffin — frolicking 

Daft — crazy 

Daidlin — trifling 

Daigh — dough 

Dambrod — Draught-board 

Dang — beat 

Daud — lump 

Daudin — thumping 

Daunderin — sauntering 

Dauner — saunter 

Daur — dare 

Da win — the breaking of the 

dawn 
Day-lily — a,sphodel 
Day's-darg — day's labor 



Dazed — bewildered from in- 
toxication or derangement 

Dead-thraws — agonies of death 

Deavin — deafening 

Dee — die 

Deealec — dialect 

Deid — dead 

Delvin — digging 

Dew-blobs — big drops of dew 

Dew-flaughts — vapors of dew 

Dight — wipe 

Din — dun 

Dinna — do not 

Dirl — a tremulous shock 

Disna — does not 

Div — do 

Dixies— a hearty scolding by 
way of reproof 



Glossary of Scotch Words. 



r /> "^ 



Dizzen — dozen 
Dockeii — dock 
Doit — a small copper coin 
Doited — stupid 
Dolp — bottom or breech . 
Donsy — a stupid lubberly fel- 
low 
Doo — pigeon 
Dook — bathe 

Door-cheek — side of the door 
Douce — grave and quiet 
Douk — bathe 
Doundraucht^-down-drag 
Doup — bottom or breech 
Dour — slow and stiif 
Douss — a blow, a stroke 
Dowy — doleful 
Dracht — draught 
prappie — little drop 
Draucht — draught 
Dree — to suffer 
Dreein — suffering 

Drogg— j ^^^ 



Dreigh — tedious 
Droich — dwarf 
Drookin — drenching 
Drookit — drenched 
Droosy^ — drowsy 
Drucken — drunken 
Drumiy — turbid, muddy 
Drummock — meal mixed witb 

cold water 
Dub — puddle 
Dung — knocked 
Dunge — see Dunsh 
Dunibie — a dumb person 
Dunsh — a knock, a jog or quick 

shove with the elbow 
D un shin — b umpiug 
Durstna — durst not 
Dwam — • ) 
Dwawm — '^ 
Dwam o' drink — a drunken 

stupor 
D winin — pining 
Dyuck — duck 



swoon 



E 



Ear — early 
Earock — a chicken 
Eatems — items 
Ee — eye 

Ee-brees — eyebrows 
Eein — eyeing 
Een — eyes 
Eerie — inspiring or 

with nameless fear 

tary place 



inspired 
in a soli- 



Eerisome — fear-inspiring in a 

lonely place 
Eerocks — see Earock 
Eident — diligent 
Eiry — full of wonder and fear 
Eisters — oysters ' 
Ettle — intend and aim at 
Evendown — undisguised and 

clear 
Exliowsted — exhausted 



Fack — fact 

Failosophers — ^philosophers 
Fan'— felt 
Fankled — entangled 
Farder — f ar th er 



Far-keekers — far-lookers 
Farrer — ^farther 
Fash — trouble 
Fashous — troublesome 
Fates — feats 



5(38 



Appendix. 



Fause-face — mask 

Faut— fault 

Fawsettoes — falsettoes 

Faynomenon — phenomenon 

Fearsome — terri ble 

Fechtin — fi ghting 

Feck — number or quantity. 
•' The grand feck," means 
the greater proportion, or 
most 

Feckless — feeble 

Feenal — final 

Feesants — pheasants 

Fend —shift 

Fennin — ^faring 

Fent — faint 

Ferly (to) — to look amazed and 
half unconscious 

Fernytickled — freckled 

Feturs — features 

Fictions — fictitious 

Fidginfain — restless from ex- 
cess of eagerness and delight 

Fin's — feels 

Finzeans — smoked haddocks 

Firm — ^form, bench 

Fisslin — rustling almost in au- 
dibly 

Fit— foot 

Fit-ba— football 

Fivver — fever 

Fizz — make an effervescing 
sound 

Fizzion amy — physiognomy 

FlafE — instant 

Flaffs — strong windy puffs 

Flaffered — blown about with 
strong puffs of wind 

Flaffin — fluttering in the air 

Flaucht — a momentary out- 
burst of flame and smoke 

•Fleech — beseech with fair 
words 

Flees — ^flies 

Flesh er — butcher 

Fl ett — i hit (in music) 

Flichter — fl utter 



Flinders — shivers 

Fliped — turned back or up, or 

inside out 
Flipes — comes peeling off in 

shreds 
Floory — flowery 
Fluff — a quick short flutter 
Flyte — rail 
Flyped — see Fliped 
Foggies — garrison soldiers ; old 

fellows past their best, or 

worn out 
Fool — fowl 
Forbye — besides 
Forfeuchen — fatigued 
Forgather wi' — fall in with 
Forrit — forward 
Foulzie — see Fuilzie 
Foumart — polecat 
Fowre — four 
Fowre - hours — tea, taken by 

Scotch rustics about four 

o'clock in the afternoon 
Fozie — soft as a frost-bitten 

turnip 
Frae — from 
Fr audit — f reigh t 
Freen — friend 
Frush — brittle ' 
Frutus — fruits 
Fu' — tipsy 
Fud — breech ; seldom used ex 

cept in reference to a hare 

or rabbit 
Fugy — ^flee off in a cowardly 

manner 
Fuilzie — filth ; filth of streets 

and sewers 
Fuirds — fords 
Fules — fools, fowls 
Fulzie — see Fuilzie 
Fulzie-man — a night-man 
Fummlin — fmnbling 
Funk — a kick 
Furm — form 

Fushionless — without sap 
Fut— foot 



G-lossary of Scotch Words. 



569 



G 



Gab — mouth 
Gaberlunzies — mendicants 

Gad — the gadfly 

Gaily — ^rather 

Gain' — against 

Gallemaufry — ^idle hubbub 

Gang — go 

Gar — make 

Garse — grass 

Gash — solemnly and ahuost 

supernaturally sagacious 
Gate — manner 
Gaunt — ^yawn 
Gaucy — portly 
Gawmut— gamut 
Gawpus — fool 
Gear — goods, riches 
Geeing — giving 
Gegg — to impose upon one's 

credulity with some piece 

of humbug 
Geggery — humbug to » impose 

upon the credulous 
Gerse — grass 
Gey- ^ 
Geyan — > rather 
Geyly— ) . 
Ggeg — a piece of humbug to 

impose upon the credulous 
Ggem — game 
Gh ai stly — gh ostly 
Gie — give 
Gied — given 
Gif— if 
Gillies — serving-lads in the 

train of a Highland chief- 
tain 
Gimmer — a two-year-old ewe 
Gin— if 
Ginnlin — catching trouts with 

the hand 
Girn — grin 
Girnel — a large meal-chest 



Girrzies — coarse servant-girls 
Gizzy — a sort of compound of 

giddy and dizzy 
Glaft: — momentary wide fluttei 

and flash 
Glaur — mud 
Gled — the glead or kite 
Glee ' d — squi ntin g 
Gleg — quick and sharp 
Gleg-eed — sharp-eyed 
Glint — a quick gleam 
Gloamin — twilight of evening 
Glower — stare with wide won- 
dering eyes 
Glummier — gloomier 
Glutter — a gurgling pressure of 

words and saliva when the 

mouth cannot utter fast 

enough 
GoUaring — uttering with loud 

confused vehemence 
Goo — provocative to food 
Gouk — fool 
Gowan — daisy 
(lowden — golden 
Gowk — fool 
Gowmeril — fool 
Gowpen, — what the two hands 

put together can hold 
Grain — to groan 
Grains — branches 
Gran ed — groaned 
Grape — a dung-fork 
Grat — wept 
Gratins — gratings 
Grawds — grades 
Gree — prize 
Greening — longing for a thing, 

as a joregnant woman is said 

to long 
Greet — weep 
Grew — greyhound 
Grewin — coursing the hare, &r. 



570 



Appendix. 



Grieves-f arm stewards or over- 
seers 
Groof — belly 

Gronsy — inclined to shiver with 
cold 

Gruin— disposed to shiver 

Gruesome — causing shudder- 
ing with loathing 

Grufe— ) 1 Ti 

Gruff- r^^^y 

Grumph — to grunt like a sow 

Grumphie — pig 

Gr u n ' — gro und 

Grun'stane — grindstone 

Grup — gripe, hold 

Guddlin — catching trouts with 
■ the hand 



Gude — good 

Guffaw — a broad la,ugh 

GuUer — a gurgling sound iij 
the throat when it is com- 
pressed or half-choked with 
water 

Gullerals — angry gurgling 

noises from the mouth 

Gull-grupper — one catching 
gulls 

Gully — large pocket-knife 

Gurlin — rolling roughly, hud- 
dled together. 

Gushets — fancy pieces worked 
with wide open stitches in 
the ankles of stockings 

Gutsy — gluttonous 

Guttlin — guzzling, eating glut- 
tonously 



H 



Ha'— hall 
Hadden — holding 
Haddies — haddocks 
Haff est — 7 xr J. T 
Haffist- [the temples 

Hafflins — ^lialf 

Hags — ^breaks in mossy ground, 
remnants of breastworks of 
peat left among the dug pits 

Hagglin — cutting coarsely 

Hail, (a) — abundance 

Haill — whole 

Hailsome — wholesome 

Hain — husband 

Hainches — haunches . 

Hairst — Jiarvest 

Hairt — heart 

Hale — whole 

Haliest — holiest 

Hantle — number, handful 

Hap—hop 

Hap-step-and-loup — hop - step- 
and-leap 

Haps — wrapp 

Harl — drag 



Hargarbargilng — ^wrangling, 
bandying words backward 
and forward 

Harn-pan — brain-pan, skull 

Harns— brains 

Hash — a noisy blockhead 

Hand — K u 

Hauld-[^^°1^ 

Haun — hand 

Haur — a thick cold fog 

Havers — j argon 

Haverer — proser 

Haveril — a chattering half-wit- 
ted person 

Hawn — hand 

Hawnle — handle 

Hawrem — harem 

Hawse — throat 

Heads and thraws — heads and 

. feet lying together at both 
ends of a bed 

Heech — high 

Hee-fieers — high-flyers 

Heelan — Highland. 

Heich — high 



Qlossary of Scotch Words. 



571 



Held — head 

Heidi an ds — headlands 

Heigh — high 

Herried — robbed or rifled, 
generally in reference to 
birds' nests 

Herrier — a robber of birds' 
nests 

Het— hot 

Hicht — height 

Hing't — hang it 

Himiy — honey 

Hirple — to walk very lamely 

Hirsel — ^flock 

Hizzie — hussy, a young woman, 
married or unmarried, gen- 
erally applied to one of a 
free open carriage • • 

Hoast — to cough 

Hogg — a year-old sheep 

Hoggit — hogshead 

Hoise — raise 

Hoodie-craws — hooded crows 

Hoolet — owlet 

Hooly — leisurely 

Horrals— small wheels on which 
tables or chairs move 

Horrel'd — wheeled, having 
wheels 



Hotch — to heave up and down 
Hotchin — heaving up and down 
Hottle — hotel 
Houghs — the hollows of the 

legs behind, between the 

calves and the thighs 
Houghmagandy — fornication 
Houkit — dug 
Houlats — owls 
Houp — hope 
Howdie— midwife 
Howe — hollow 
Howes — holes 
Howf — haunt 
Howk — to dig 
Howp — hope 

How-towdies — barn-door fowls 
Pluggers — stockings without 

feet 
Hun der — h un dr ed 
Hurcheon — urchin, hedgehog 
Hurdles — hips 
Hurl (a) — a ride in any vehicle, 

but with usual reference to a 

cart 
Huts, tuts ! — an exclamation 

of contemptuous doubt or 

unbelief 
Hyuckit — hooked 



Idiwit — idiot 
lies — oils 
Hey — oily 

Ilka^ \ ^^^^' ®^^^y 
Jll-faured — ill-favoured 



Ingan — onion 

Ingine — genius, ingenuity 

Ingle — fireside, hearth 

Interteenin — entertaining 

Intil — into 

Isna — is not 



Jalouse — suspect 
Jawp — splash 
Jee (a) — a turn 
Jeely — Jelly 



Jigot — gigot 
Jimp-waisted- 



-slender-waisted 



572 



Appendix. 



Jinkin — turning suddenly when 
pursued 

Jirt — to send out with quick, 
short emphasis 

Jockteleg — a folding-knife 

Jougs — an iron collar fastened 
to the wall of a church, and 
put round a culprit's neck, in 
the old ecclesiastical disci- 
pline of Scotland 



Jookery-pawkery — ] juggling 
Joukery-pawkery — ) trickery 
Jookin — coming suddenly forth 
in a sly and somewhat stoop- 
ing manner 
Jouked — dodged 
Joukit — dodged, to avoid a 

thrust or blow 
Jugging— jogging 



K 



Kame — comb 

Keckle — cackle 

Ke cklin — cackling 

Keek — peep 

Keekit — peeped 

Keeklivine pen — chalk pencil 

Kembe — comb 

Ken — know 

Kennin't — knowing it 

Kenna — do not know 

Kenspeekle — noticeable 

Kent — known 

Ker-hauned — left-handed 

Kerse — carse, alluvial lands ly- 
ing along a river 

Kibbock — a cheese 

Kimmers — gossips 

Kipper — fish dried in the sun, 
usually applied to salmon 



Kirns— feasts of harvest home, 

with a dance 
Kitchen — relish 
Kittle— difficult 
Kittly — easily tickled, sensitive 
Kittled — literally littered, as of 

kittens 
Kitty-wren — wren 
Kiver — cover 
Kivey — covey 
Knappin — breaking with quick 

short blov/s 
Knowe — knoll 
Kye— cows 
Kyeanne — cayenne 
Kyloe — -an ox, generally used in 

reference to the Highland 

breed 
Kythes — shows itself 
Kyuck — cook 



1 iab — strike 

Laigh — low 

Lair — learning 

Laith — loth 

Laithsome, loathsome 

Lameter — cripple 

Lane — lone, alone 

Lanes (twa) — two selves 

Lang — long 

Lang-nebbed — long-nosed ; 



L. 



erally applied to words long 
and learned (verba sesquipe- 
dalia) with contempt for him 
that uses them 

Lap — leaped 

Lauchin — laughing 

Launin— landing 

Law (as applied to a height) — 

an isolated hill, generally 

gen- more or less conical in form 



Q-lossary of Sooich Words. 



51b 



Lave — remainder 

Laverock — lark 

Leddies — ladies 

Leear — liar 

Leecures — liqueurs 

Leeds — leads 

Lee-lang — live-long 

Leemits — limits 

Leeves — lives 

Len — loan 

Leuch — laughed 

Licht — light 

Licks — chastisement 

Lift — firmament 

Lilt — to sing merrily 

Limmers — worthless characters, 

•usually applied to women 
Links — downs 
Linns — small cascades, together 

with the rocks over which 

tliey fall 
Lintie — linnet 
Lint white — lin net 
Lister — a pronged spear for 

striking fish 



Lith — joint 

Loan — a green open place near 

a farm or village, w^here the 

cows are often milked 
Lo'esome — lovable 
Loo — to love 
Loot" — palm of the hand 
Loot — stoop 
Losh — a Scotch exclamation of 

wonder 
Lounderin — striking heavily iu 

a fight 
Loup — leap 

Lout — lower the head, stoop 
Low— flame 
Lowin — flaming 
Lown — calm 
Lowse — loose 
Lozen — window pane 
Luck — } , 1 
Luk- [^°°k • 
Lug — ear 
Luni — chimney 
Lyart — grey, hoary 



M 



Mailin — a small property 

Make — match, or mate 

Mankey — a kind of coarse cloth 
for female wear 

Manteens — maintains 

Mantel — chimney-piece 

Marrow — match, equal >. 

Mart— an ox killed at Martin- 
mas and salted for winter pro- 
vision 

]?Jauks — maggots 

Maukin — hare 

Maun — must 

Mawt — malt 

Measter — master 

Meer — mare 

Meerage — mirage 
» Meikle — much 



IMeltlth — a meal of meat 

Meunon — minnow 

jSlense^ — to grace, to enable to 

make a good show 
Mere — ^mare 
Messan — a mongrel cur 
{^lettaseekozies-metempsychosis 
"Michtna — might not 
Midden — dunghill 
Mint (to) — to hint or aim at 
Mirk — dark 
Mizzles — measles 
Monyplies — ['art of the intes- 

tines with many convolutions 
Mool — mule 
Mortcloth — the black cloth 

thrown over the coffin at a 

funeral 



0< 1 



Appendix. 



Moold — mould 

Mootin — moultinq: 

Mooldy — mouldy. 

Mou — mouth 

Moul — mould, earth, soil 

Mouls — small crumbling clods 

Moudiwarp, — Moudiewart 

mole 
Muck the byre — clean out the 

cow-house 



Muckle — much 

Mudged — made the slightest 

movement 
Munted — mounted 
Mummle — mumble 
Murnins. — mourning-dress 
Mutch — a woman's cap 
Mutchkin — a Scotch liquid 

measure nearly equivalent to 

the imperial pint 



N 



Nae — no 

Naig — nag 

Kain — own 

Nate — neat 

Nawsal — nasal 

Neb — nose 

Neep — turnip 

Neerdoweel — one who never . 

does well, incorrigibly foolish 

or wicked. 
Neist — next 
Neuk — nook 

New harled — new plastered 
Nicher — neigh 
Niddlety-noddlety — nodding 

the head pleasantly 



Nieve — fist 

Nocht — nought, nothing 

Noo — now 

Noos and thans — now and then' 

Noony — luncheon 

Notts — notes 

Nowte — neat cattle 

Nowtical — nautical 

Numm — benumbed 

Numme rs — n umbers 

Nuzzlin — Nuzzlin, pressing 
with the nose, as a child 
against its mother's breast 

Nyaffing — small yelping 

Nyuck — nook 



o 



Obs — observation 

Ocht — ought 

Ocht — auc;l:t, anything 

Odd — ode 

Oe — grandson 

Ony ae — any one 

Ool — owl 



Out-by — without, in the open 
air 
I^Outower — out over 

Ower — over 

Ower-by — over the way 
" Owertap — overtop* 

O w tl 1 or — a uthor 

Oxter — arm-pit 



Pabble — to boil, to make the 
sound and motion of boiling 



Paddocks — frogs 
Paiks — a drubbing 



Gloiiiiary of Scotch VioTd-:>. 






Paid\ iiiii — wading sauntering- 
]y lor amusement in the wa- 
ter 

Pai rein — piercing 

Pai rodo wgs — paradox 

Paitrick — partridge 

rarritch---oatmeal porridge 

Parshel — parcel 

Partens — crabs 

Pastigeos— pasticcios 

Pat — put 

Patrick — partridge 

Patron — pattern 

Pawkie — shrewd 

Paum— palm 

Pease-weep — lapwing 

Pech — pant 

Pechs — pigmies 

Peel— pill 

Peepin — peeping 

Peerie — peg-top 

Peerie-weerie — insignificant 

Peeryette — pirouette 

Peeryin — purling 

Pellock — a porpoise 

Pensie — pensive 

Penter — painter 

Pernicketty — precise in trilies, 
finical 

Pickle — small quantity 

Pingle — difiiculty, trouble 

Pint — point 

Pirn — reel for a fishing-line 

Pirrat — pirate 

Pit — to put 

Pitten — put 

Pleuch — plough 

Plookin — plucking 

Ploom— plumb, £100,000 

Ploomdamass — prune 

Plouter — to work or play idly 
and leisurely in water or any 
other soft matter 

Plow]) — the sound of anything 
small but heavy dropping in- 
to water or other soft matter 



Ploy — a social meeting for 
amusement 

Pluf£ — a small puff as of ig- 
nited powder 

Plum — a perpendicular fall 

Pockey-ort— marked with the 
small-pox 

Poleish — police 

Pomes — poems 

Pooked — plucked 

Poor — power 

Poorfu' — powerful 

Poortith — poverty 

Poossie — pussy ; applied to a 

Pootry — poultry [hare 

Pose — hoard of money 

Potty — putty 

Poupit — pulpit 

Po u th er — po w der 

Poutry — poultry 

Pow — poll or head 

Powheads — tadpoles 

Powldowdies — oysters 

Powper — pauper 

Poy — pie 

Pree — try, taste 

Pree'd — tried, tasted 

Preein — tasting 

Preevat — private 

Prent — print 

Prick-ma-denty — finical, ridic- 
ulously exact 

Priggin — entreating, haggling 
with a view to cheapen 

Prin — pin 

Propine — gift ; properly gift in 
promise or reserve 

Pruve — prove 

Pu'— pull 

Puckit — meagre and mean 
looking; better spelt "pook- 
it.'^ 

Puir — poor 

Pushion — poison 

Puddock-stools — fungi 

Pyet — magpie 



5.76 



j±2Jjpenaix. 



Q 



Q.uaich — a drinking-cup with 
two handles, generally of 
wood 

iiwdt — did quit 



Quate — quiet 

Quey (a) — a young cow 

Quullies — small quills 



E 



Ilaggoo — ragout 
Rainpawgeous — outrageously 

violent 
Rampauging — raging and 

storming 
Ram-stam — headlong, onward 

without calculation 
Eandie — scolding woman 
Rang — reigned 
Rape — rope 
Rashes — rushes 
Rasps — raspberries 
Rattan — rat 
Rax — reach 
Ream — cream 
Regate — receipt, recipe 
Red-kuted — red-ankled 
Red-wud mad — raging mad 
Reek — smoke 
Re est — to be restive 
Reesty — restive 
Reseedin — residing 
Rickle-T— a loose heap 
Rickley — loosely built up and 

easily knocked down 
Riff-raffery — of the rabble 

and disreputable 
Rig — ridge of land 
Riggiu — roof and ridge 
Ripe — poke 
Ripin — poking 
Rippet — disturbance 
Riving — tearing 



Rizzers — 
Rizzer'd haddies — 



■> haddocks 
> dried in 



) the suu. 

Roan — spout 

Rockins — evening neighborly 
meetings for a general spin- 
ning with the distaff 

Rooket, rooked — " cleaned out" 
at play 

Roop — rump 

Roosed — extolled 

Roots — routs 

Rose-kamed — rose-combed 

Rotten — rat 

Rouch — rough 

Roun' — round 

Roup — ^I'ump 

Rouse — extol 

Routin — roaring 

Rows — rolls 

Rowled — rolled 

Row ted — roared 

Rubber — robber 

Rubbit — robbed 

Rubiawtors — devouring mon- 
sters 

Rucks — ricks 

Ruff — applause by beating 
with the feet 

Rug — tear 

Rung — a cudgel 

Runkled — crumpled 

Eype — see Ripe 



S 



Sabbin — sobbing 
Saft — soft 



Saip — soap 
Sair — serve 



Crlossary of Scotch Words. 



bll 



Sair — sore 

Sants — saints 

Sark — shirt 

Sass — sauce 

Sassenach — a Lowlander or 
Englishman 

Sangh wand — willow wand 

Saun — sand 

Saunt — saint 

Saut — salt 

Sawmont — salmon 

Scald — scold 

Scale — spill 

Scart — scratch 

Sceeance — science 

Schule — school 

Sclate — slate 

Sclutter — a bnbb ling outburst 
or rush of liquid 

Scones — soft cakes of bread, 
generally unleavened 

Scoonrel — scoundrel 

Scoor — scour 

Scraugh-pa screech or shriek 

Screed — tear, a revel 

Scribe — scrab or wild apples 

Scroof — nape 

Scrow — crew 

Scunner — to shudder with 
loathing 

Scutter — a thin scattered dis- 
charge 

Seek — sect 

Seelent — silent 

Seenonims — synonyms 

Seepit — soaked 

Seggs — sedges 

Seik — sick 

Sel — self 

Selt— sold 

Sereawtim — seriatim 

Sey — assay, prove. 

Shachlin — shuffling 

Shank's naigie — on foot 

Sh ankers — ale-glasses with 

' long stalks 



Shaw — show 

Shauchly — ill made about the 

limbs and feet, and walking 

with a sort of shuffle 
Shave — slice 
Shawps — husks 
Shells — cells 
Shielin — a shepherd's slender, 

temporary cot 
Sh ilf a — chaffinch 
Shinna^ — shall not 
Shissors — scissors 
Shoggly — sh aky 
Shooblimest — sublimest 
Shool — shovel, spade 
Shoon — shoes 
Shoor — shower - 
Shouther — shoulder [withered 
Shranky — slender, lean, and 
Shucken — shaken 
Shue — sew 
Shusey — Susan 
Sib — akin 

Siccan — such kind of 
Sich — a sigh 
Si dike— such as, similar 
Sile — soil 

Siller — silver, money 
Sinnies — sinews 
Sin 'syne — ago 
Siver — a covered drain 
Skaith — harm 
Skarted — scratched 
Skeel— skill 
Skeely — skilful 
Skein-dhu — a Highland dagger 
Skelp — a slap, a sharp blow 

(properly with the palm of 

the hand) 
Skently—scantily, barely 
Skep — hive 
Skeugh — a slight shelter ; more 

correctly spelt Scug 
Skirl — a shrill cry 
Skirrin — flying 
Skites — skates 



678 



Appendix. 



Si ^ ^^\ r a screech, a scream 
Skreich — ) ' 

Skreigh — (skreigh-o-day) — 

break of day 
Skreeds — long pieces 
Skrow — number, swarm 
Skuddy — n aked 
Skunner— shudder with disgust 
Slaters — small insects of the 

beetle species 
Sleuth hound — blood-hound 
Slokener — allayer of thirst 
Sluddery — slippery 
Sma — small 
Smeddum — spirit 
Smeeks — stifles with smoke 
Smiddy— smithy 
Smoored — smothered 
Snaffin — the shortest, smallest 

petulant bark of the smallest 

Sneevlin — speaking with a 

strong nasal twang through 

the mucus of the nose 
Snokin— smelling like a- dog 
Snood — head-band w^orn by 

maidens only 
Snooking — sucking down by 

the nostrils 
S nooled — cowed 
Snoot — snout 
Snooved — went smoothly and 

constantly 
Snoving — going smoothly and 

constantly 
Soddy — soda water 
Sonsy — well-conditioned 
Soo — sow 
Soocker — sucker 
Sooens — a sort of flummery 

made of the dust of oatmeal 
Sook — suck 
Soom — swim 
Soop — sup 
Sooper — supper 
Sooterkin — abortion 



Sough — rumor 

Soum — swim, sum 

Soup — sup 

Sourocks — sorrel 

Sowens — see Sooens 

Spale-box — a small box made oi 

chips of wood, mainly for 

holding pills or salves 
Spang — ^leap 
Sparables — small iron nails in 

soles and heels of shoes, &c. 
Spat — spot 

Spate — stream in flood 
Spawl — shoulder 
Speaned — weaned 
Speat — stream in flood 
Speel — climb 
Speer — ask 
Speerally — spirally 
Speldrins — haddocks salted and 

dried 
Spinnle-shankit — thin-limbed 
Spleet — split 
Spootin — spouting 
Spring-brod — spring-board 
Spunk — a wooden match tipped 

with brimstone 
Spunked out — came to light 
Spunkie — spirited 
Squozen — squeezed 
Stab — stake 
Stacherin — staggering 
Staigs — stags 
Stake — steak 
Stamack — stomach 
Stane — gtone 
Stap — stop 
Starnies— stars 
Staun — stand 
S tawed — satiated 
Steaks — stakes 
Steek — shut 
Steepin — stipend 
SteU — a still, a shelter for sheep 

or cattle 
Sternies — stars 



Grlossary of Scotch Wo7^ds. 



579 



Stey — steep 

Sticket minister — one who gives 
up the clerical profession in 
, Scotland from not being able 

''to get ordination and a living 

Stirks — ^young cattle in the first 
year of their age 

Stock — ^fote })art of a bed 

Stoiter — stagger 

Stooks— shocks of corn 

Stool — the bottom of any crop ; 
generally thick and close crops 
are said to " stool out "when 
they thicken at bottom 

Stooned — pained 

Stoop and roop — completely 

Stoopit — stupid 

Stot — to rebound 

Stotted — rebounded 

Stoun — a thrilling beat, a quick 
painful ache 

Stouning — aching 

Stour — flying dust, or dust in 
motion 

Stown— stolen 

Stownways — stealthily 

Stracht — straight 

Strack — struck 

Strae — straw 

Stramash — uproar, tumult 

Strang — strong 

Strauchened — straightened 

Stravaig — idle, aimless wander- 
ing 



Strecht — straight 

Streck — strike 

Streckin — stretching 

Streekit — stretched 

Stroop — spout 

Strussle — fight 

Stullion — stallion 

Sturt — trouble 

Sud — should 

Sugh (keep a calm sugh) — ^be 
quiet. Sugh itself means the 
solemn murmur of wind in the 
trees or through a narrow 
passage 

Suit — suite 

Sumph — a blockhead 

Sune — soon 

Swallin — swelling 

Swap — exchange 

Swarf — a swoon 

Swattle — fill gluttonously or 
drunkenly 

Sweein — swinging 

Sweered — unwilling 

Sweeties — small sweetmeats 

Svv^ither — hesitate 

S woopit — swept 

Swurl — whirl 

Swutches — switches 

Sybo — a young onion with its 
gTeen tail 

Symar — cymar, scarf 

Syne (sin 'syne) — ago 



Tae — one of two 
Taes— toes 
Taeds — 7 , i 
Taids-.r^^^V 
Taigle — linger 
Tain (the — the one 
Tangle — a kind of sea-weed 
Tantrums — a fit of sulky whim, 
whimsical sullen s 



Tap — top 

Tapsalteerie — ^lieels-over-head 

Tapsetowry — in excited and 

raised confusion 
Taukin— talking 
Tauted — ) , , , 
Tautied-[^^^^^^ 
Tawpy — ^thoughtless and coarse 
Tawry — tarry 



580 



A^ypendix. 



tough 



Tawse — the implements of flag- 
ellation in Scottish schools 

Tawty — matted 

Teegar — tiger 

Teep — type 

Tent — care 

Tench — ) 

Teugh — ) 

Thairm — fiddle-strings 

Thees — thighs 

'Jlieekin — ttiatching 

Theekit — thatched 

Theirsel — theirselves 

Thir — these 

Thocht — thought 

Thole — endure 

Thoom — thumb 

Thrang — busy 

Thrapple — windpipe 

Thrapplin — choking by com- 
pressing the throat 

Thrawart and uncanuie — per- 
verse and dangerous 

Thrawin — throwin 

Three d — tliread 

Threecolore — tricolor 

Threeped — asserted 

Threeple — triple 

Threteen — thirteen 

Thretty— thirty 

Thrissle — thistle 

Throughither — mixed all to- 

, gether 

Thursty — thirsty 

Thud — a thump, and the noise 
it makes 

Th um m 1 ef u ' s — thimblef uls 

Ticht— tight 

Tiler — tailor 

Till— to 

Tiirt— to it 

Timmer — timber 

Timmer-tuned — altogether un- 
musical in the voice 

Tiniug — losing 

Tinsy — tinsel 



Tint — lost 

Tirlin — unroofing 

Thither— the other 

Tocher — dowry 

Toddle — to totter like a child in 

walking 
Toddler — a tottering child 
Toman — a knoll, a thicket 
Tooels — towels 
Toom — empty 
Toour— town 
Toosy— > 

Toosey — > shaggy, rpugh, dis- 
Toozy — ) bevelled 
Toozlin — handling the lasses in 

rough sport 
Tootin — blowing a horn 
Tosh up — display to best advan 

tage 
Toshly — neatly 
Tot — the whole number 
Touts— sounds 
Touzle — deal roughly with 
Towdie — a barn-door fowl 
Towmont — twelv&month 
Towsy — siiaggy, dishevelled, 

rough 
Tramper — wandering beggar 
Trance — passage 
Transmogrify — to metamorphose 

strangely 
Trate — treat 
Tredd — trade 
Trig — neat 
Trocbs — troughs 
Trotters- — legs and feet 
True — trow, believe 
Trummel — ) , ,, 
Trummle-I *^"^^^^^ 
Trumlin— trembling 
Twa-haun — two-handed 
Twa-three — two or three 
Twal — twelve 
Twalt— twelfth 
Tyke — dog, cur 
Tyuk — took 



G-lossary of Sceteh Words. 
U 



5si 



Unce — ounce Upcast — taunt, reproach 

Unco — uncommon Uptak — apprehension, compre- 

Un wiselike — unlike the truth, hension 

ridiculous Urchin — the shell so called 



Vacauce — vacation 

Vice — voice 

Vicey — small thin voice 



Vivers — victuals 
Vizy — a deliberate look at a 
particular object 



w 



Wa'— wall 

Wab — web 

Wabsters — weavers 

Wad — would 

Waefu' — sorrowful 

Waff — wave 

Waght — w^eight 

Wale — best 

Walin — choosing 

Wallise — valise 

Wanie — stomach 

Wamefu — bellyful 

Wamle — a sudden tumbling 

roll, generally on tlie belly 
Wan — one 
Warn a — were not 
Warsle — wrestle 
Was na't — was it not 
Water-pyat — the water-ouzel 
Watlier — weather 
Wattin — wetting 
Waught (a) — a large draught 
Waukrife — watchful, sleepless 
Wa^ir — w^orse 
^"^ eaus — children 
Weather-gleam — a gleam of 

light in the track of the sun 

on the edge of the horizon, 

in cloudy weather 
Wecht — weight 
Wede — weeded 



Wee— little 

Wees — (by littles and wees), 

by insensible degrees 
Weel-f am'ed — weel- favored 
Weel-kend — well-kn own 
Weezen'd — dried, hide-bound, 

withered, shrunk, and yellow 
Werena — were not 
Wersh — insipid 
Wershness — insipidity 
Whafflin — raising a wind wdth 

violent waving 
Whalps— whelps 
Whammle — upset 
Whang — a large slice or cut 
Whap — a heavy slap 
Whase — whose 
What — whet 
Whattin — whetting 
Whaups — curlews 
Wheen — a number 
Wheesht — ^ 
Wheish — >- hush 
Whisht— ) 
Whilk — which 
Whilly-wha — a shuffler 
Whins — furze 

Whumle — ^to turn up or round 
Whup — ^whip 
Whupt — wliipt 
Whurlint — whirling 



582 



Appendix. 



Whuskin — whisking 
Whusky — whisky 
Whusper — whisper 

Whiit— whit 

Whyleock — little while 

Wi' hit— with it 

Wice — wise 

Wimplin — curling and pur- 
ling 

Win — get 

Winclle-strae — a tall, dun, sap- 
less grass that grows on 
Scottish hills 

Win die - s-trae - legged — with 
small, puny legs 

Wise — entice 

Wiselike — j udicious 

Wizen — throat 

Wizened — see Weezened 

Wons — dwells 

Won n er — wo nder 

Wonnin — dwelling 

Woo — wool 

Wordier — ^worthier 



Wrastle — wrestl« 
Wud — angry 
Wudcock — woodcock 
Wudcut — woodcut 
AVudds — woods 
Wudna — would not 
Wudness — distraction 
Wull-cat — wild cat 
Wullie-waucht — large draught 
Wuirt— will it 
Wummle — wimble 

Wund-I ™^ 

Wundin — winding 

Wunk — -wink 

Wunna — will not 

Wun nel-strae- — s£e Windle- 

strae 
Wunn ock — window 
Wurset — ^worsted 
Wus — swish 
Wut— Wit 
Wutty — witty 
Wuzzard — wizard 
Wysslike — ^j udiciously 
Wyte— blame, fault 



Yammer — murmur or whimper 
peevishly 

Yatt — yacht 

Yaud — a sorry old horse 

Yawp — sharp set 

Yearock — chicken 

Yellow yoldrin — yellow ham- 
mer 

Yepoch — epoch 

Yerk-yerking — carp-carping 

STerth — eartl: 



Yestreen — yester even 

Yett — gate \ 

Yill— ale 

Yirth — earth 

Yoke till him — set upon him 

Yonner — ^yonder 

Yott — ^yacht 

Youf-youfin — ^yelp-yelping 



2krf'5 



Deaciditied using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 

Treatment Date: May 2009 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16065 



\tm 



m^m 



CONGRESS 



